


Me and The Devil

by Cym0rg



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Begging, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Size Difference, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, and meg is hot, creative use of a flashlight, evan is lonely, shenanigans ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cym0rg/pseuds/Cym0rg
Summary: Serving the Entity is a lonely, tedious obligation. Time blurs, and the pressure to perform never gets any lighter. Evan MacMillan never asked for this existence - but it seems a fitting punishment for his sins. Alone and bound to brutality, Evan has few outlets for his frustration. Even more maddening, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to one of the survivors he is destined to hunt.Meg Thomas is both a weakness and a reprieve.





	1. Chapter 1

The Trapper stood at the edge of the exit gates, the Fog rolling in as the last of the survivor’s forms scurried into the abyss he was forbidden from following. His defeat rested heavily on his mind. Three survivors had escaped, leaving him with a single paltry sacrifice to offer the Entity. He could already feel the Entity’s displeasure settling over him, the feeling of a thousand judgmental spines and the condemning caws of the crows.

It wasn’t his fault, he mused to himself as he glanced at the thickening mist. Soon enough, this realm would come away. He would return to the MacMillan Estate. There would be no triumphant, well-earned rest before the next Trial. His failure would linger over him until he demonstrated his true ability to destroy. As the Fog slowly coiled around his body, Evan let out a frustrated sigh. His world was gradually enveloped by the gray haze.

When he regained his vision, Evan was standing in the middle of the MacMillan Estate’s logging yard. His shoulders relaxed momentarily as he remembered that this was his domain. And for the time being, he was alone. The hollow, mocking caws of the crows rang distantly as he gripped the handle of his machete. 

Evan made his way across the grounds of the Estate, taking his familiar path through the woods on the outskirts of what used to be the mine in search of the hunting shack he called a home. It was in the same place it always was, nestled in the heart of the dense Shelter Woods. But it was a minor comfort. Evan still could not free himself from the aggravation building as a result of his failure. 

The old wooden door to his outpost opened with a groan. Evan pushed his way inside, the grip on his machete tightening as he drove it into the wood of his workbench. It remained there, half buried in a brand new notch alongside many others from previous failures. At least it was a new notch in the workbench, and not a new hook in his back, his morbid thoughts echoed as he approached the one chair he had. 

He fell into it with a growl of frustration, gripping either side of the iron chair as he gazed idly into the furnace ahead of him. It was perpetually burning, a fire that he never tended, yet never seemed to extinguish. He was sure that it was The Entity’s doing, much like everything else in this realm. He gazed ahead at the motions of the flames, his mind wandering back to the previous Trial.

He'd almost secured a second sacrifice. The man with the glasses had been hooked twice. If that damn saboteur hadn't dropped the hook at the last second, he would have been taken by The Entity. The Trapper released a low grunt recalling the events. Lesson learned, then. He wouldn't allow that toolbox-wielding rat an opportunity like that again. 

And then there was the girl. The redhead. Meg Thomas. He couldn't hook her - not anymore. Twice he came upon her, and twice he let her go. She knew things had changed between them, but even though she still gazed at him in fear, he thought he saw her nod in gratitude before turning to flee. How it evoked raw, strange feelings in him. 

With Meg, he hesitated. There was something intoxicating about her presence. Perhaps it was her bravery, her resilience. Or, maybe it was her soft hair. Maybe it was her sweet scent, somehow still present despite the dirt and sweat. Perhaps her large eyes, or the way her full lips turned down at the corners. 

No matter what it was, it made him weak.  
And the rule about weakness in The Entity’s realm was that it must be destroyed. But no matter how much he willed himself to, he couldn't. He struggled to raise his hand against her, even with fresh wounds on his back. He allowed her to escape more times than were permissible. 

And… yet… he wondered how she felt about him. Had she noticed how he never struck her? How he no longer responded to her taunts and jeers? 

Could she be grateful? 

His mind was delving deeper and deeper into this scenario - where Meg approached him in the Fog, after her teammates had escaped. He imagined her in front of him, an unusually warm smile on her lips. 

“Thank you,” the imaginary Meg purred. Before he could reply, she moved forward, opening her arms to embrace him. She rubbed her head against his chest. Perhaps all too keenly, he felt her breasts against him. 

Though they were clothed at the moment in his fantasy, that didn't stop him from dwelling on them. He'd never seen Meg in anything but her sports top, but he was certain they were lovely. Soft and pale, with two delicate pink nipples. In his fantasy, Meg's slender hands moved to the zipper of her tightly-fitted top. She pulled it down slowly, gradually revealing more of her chest to him until she was bared.

She was only a figment of his imagination, running rampant from stress, but just imagining her took his breath away. 

He envisioned her throwing her top to the side, and then cupping her perky breasts. She squeezed them teasingly. 

“Come on,” she coaxed, in that voice that so often he was used to hearing disgust from. There was none of that in her tone now. 

“I've seen how you look at me. I've felt your hands on my thighs when you carry me. You want me.” The visage insisted.

The Trapper felt himself stiffen with shame at the accusation from his fantasy. Perhaps his hands had lingered around her thighs while he slung her over his shoulder. It wasn't intentional. At least, not at first. 

“And I want you,” she added after a moment, her voice a purr of affection.

With that, he thought of reaching down to toy with her chest. Her breasts were small in his hands, or so he thought. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, earning a whine of satisfaction from her. He gave her tits a squeeze before moving his hands over the rest of her bare torso. 

He thought of her bare navel, lean and leading to her trim waist. He wanted more than anything to feel it beneath him. He moved his massive hand across it, feeling the gentle movement of her muscles. His hand wandered further and further down, slipping past the elastic band of her leggings. She gave a pleased squeal, excitedly wiggling her hips in anticipation. 

He felt her soft vulva, slick with need already. Her hips rocked against his hand eagerly. 

At once, Meg stopped. She grabbed either side of the waistband of her pants and very slowly pulled them over her shapely legs. She stepped out of her shoes, and then her pants. She stood entirely naked before him. The vision was still for a moment, as Evan tried to imagine what she looked like. Her body was lean, her waist narrow, her legs strong from all their use. She must have those freckles everywhere. On her chest, her shoulders, her thighs. A small tuft of red hair lay just above her small, pink cunt. 

After a moment, she came towards him. She dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands wandering over his stiffening groin. From her position between his legs, Meg gazed at him warmly. 

At once, Evan was sharply reminded of the inaccuracy of his daydream. 

He returned to reality for a moment, concentration broken as he opened his eyes. Evan could feel his cock hardening in his overalls, begging for release. With a sigh, he moved one large hand to unbutton the section. There was no sense in denying himself the pleasure. He was alone, as he always was, and always would be. 

His thick cock sprang free, already semi-erect from his fantasy of the pretty ginger survivor. He groaned softly as his hand gripped the shaft, applying some pressure as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

Picking up where he left off, the Trapper glanced back down at Meg, who was patiently waiting. She wrapped a delicate hand around his cock, unable to fully grasp the thickness. He became acutely aware of his size then, especially as she brought her head closer. 

Her second hand joined the first, closer to the base. Working his massive erection would be a challenge for her. Fortunately, he'd noticed that she was one of the most determined survivors.

She began to pump her hands over his cock, working with a vigor that translated into the Trapper's own movements. He worked himself to a fully erect state, pretending it was the deft hands of the redheaded survivor instead. Once he was there, he thought of Meg coming closer. 

Her soft lips graced the tip of his cock, offering a light kiss before her tongue emerged to lap away his precum. She moved to take the head into her mouth, sucking lightly. To mimic his imagination, Evan moved his thumb to give his sensitive head a squeeze. 

He groaned at the sensation, fully aware that nobody would be around to listen to his self-gratification. He could only imagine how satisfying it would be to plug the smart mouth that so often berated him. To have her sharp tongue cleaning his cock when he was done with her. 

He thought of her braids, nearly perfect handles as he lowered a large hand to grip the top of her head.

“More,” he growled aloud, thankful for his solitude. He thought of grabbing her left braid, how silky her hair must feel, and using it to guide her further down his cock. Meanwhile, he had begun to rut feverishly into his hand. His hips twitched up instinctively, lust mounting from his overactive imagination.

He squeezed his cock, imagining her mouth around him. He thought of how her teeth may graze his shaft, but she would be too intent on pleasing him to bite. She'd behave, for the first time since he had encountered her. His breath was coming out heavily now, his grunts echoing in the small chamber of his mask. 

“Meg,” he groaned, feeling the height of his pleasure starting to build. Her name sounded unfamiliar on his tongue. He hadn't much reason to say it. It wasn't as though he spoke to survivors during the Trials. But here… thinking about her sucking dutifully away…

“My Meg,” the monster growled, louder this time. The powerful thrusting and the pressure from his hand was causing a white-hot surge of bliss that he couldn't resist.

Not that he wanted to.

His mind was beginning to unravel from need. The carefully constructed image of the pretty ginger girl fell away in his mind's eye. He thought of her against his chest, kissing tenderly at his face. He thought of being inside her, how tight her tiny cunt must feel. She became an experience, melding with the pleasure and becoming one with it. 

Before he knew it, he was there. With a roar that sounded vaguely like her name, the beast came. Thick, white ropes of cum burst from his cock, coating the floor and his hand. The Trapper remained still for a moment, paralyzed by that rare high that he hardly ever allowed himself. He needed to breathe, though. His free hand raised to his mask, tearing it off and setting it beside his chair.

He leaned back, relaxing in the wake of his orgasm. All of his concerns from earlier seemed to fade away. The only thing that remained was the mental image of the redheaded survivor - cleaning up the aftermath with her soft tongue. He took a deep breath, releasing it through his nostrils.

As tempting as it would be to laze about after that, Evan didn't prefer a messy workspace. In a perfect world, Meg would've made sure none of his seed went to waste. But this wasn't that world.

Before he could reach up to grab a rag, his attention was caught by something else. 

A series of crashes from his left, followed by a small gasp. He stood and turned towards the doorway, any lethargy from the session immediately gone. The beast was present once more, and whatever unwanted intruder he had was going to regret their arrival shortly.

Oh.

It was _her._


	2. Chapter 2

Meg Thomas stood in front of him, backed against a newly bare shelf. The tools he'd stored there were strewn about on the floor, answering one of his questions. Her bright blue eyes were wide with shock, her mouth agape as though she were about to scream. Unlike his fantasy, she was fully clothed, wearing the dirty clothes that clung to her frame. It was unmistakable. 

She was here, and she was real. 

They stared at one another for a moment, both too stunned by the incredulity of it all. He became painfully aware of the fact that he was still exposed and maskless. His mouth felt abruptly dry, pulled into a hard line as he did his best to ignore the implication that she’d seen witnessed what he’d been doing.

“So you do speak.” Meg whispered. 

Bold as ever. Evan knew he should've expected no less from the defiant survivor. 

“Leave.” He demanded, calling on the deepest tones of his voice in the hopes of intimidating her. She seemed to be on the cusp of running, judging by her stance. It was time to coax her into committing. 

He took a lurching step forward, heading to the wooden table where his machete remained upright. As he gripped the handle, he noticed her move towards the window. The glass had long since been knocked out - leaving it not unlike those she was so used to vaulting. 

That wouldn't do at all. There was a trap on the other side, hidden by grass. If she hadn't triggered it going in, she surely would going out. 

He stepped back, giving her a wide girth to make for the door. Perhaps he wasn't being overt enough, but Meg ignored the unspoken mercy. He made no further moves towards her, instead internally groaning at her stubbornness. She was every bit as rash as she was beautiful. 

Though, if nothing else, seeing her outside of the Trial was a pleasant surprise. 

Seeing that he wasn't giving chase, Meg stopped. Her eyes narrowed, one brow arched above the other. Her stance still spoke of wariness. Her slender legs were placed far apart in anticipation to move quickly. It was her one defense against killers, after all. He nearly expected her to flee on sight, but naturally only Meg would pick the worst possible time to be brave.

“Not feelin’ it right now, huh, big guy?” She asked. Despite how bold her words were, he could still hear a nervous waver in her voice.

“No. Get out.” He demanded gruffly. To back up a threat he wouldn't act on, he raised his weapon slightly.

Meg seemed to be growing more confident with each passing moment of inaction. She glanced around, taking her eyes off of him for the first time since they'd begun this confrontation. Her eyes finally returned to him, lower than they were before. He didn't need to guess what she was staring at.

“You… uh. You wanna get that?” She abruptly asked. One delicate hand raised to gesture towards where the zipper of her elastic leggings would be, if she had one.

A very intentionally loud exhale came from the beast, his free hand lowering to rebutton the section of his coveralls. He’d only taken his eyes off her for a second, but a second was all it took. Out of his immediate view, wood creaked and the girl gave a grunt, hauling herself through the broken window in one swift motion. Evan glanced up at the tail end of her maneuver. 

_Three, two…_

__**SNAP!** _ _

Meg’s pained scream punctuated the familiar snap of the trap’s jaws closing. Evan couldn’t suppress a disappointed sigh. All the space he had given her to run, and she chose to vault through the window. He walked towards the door, laying his weapon down on the table as he passed it. As he rounded the shack, he could hear the distinct noise of Meg whimpering as she tried to free herself. Once, it had made his heart pump with anticipation of the hunt. Now it only made him feel this strange... ache in his chest. He believed it was pity. Disgusting. 

Surely enough, as he rounded the corner, there she was. Her ankle was caught between the cold iron jaws, biting mercilessly into her flesh. Her fingers were carefully placed around the teeth, and with a grunt she tried in vain to pry them open. Streaks of blood, nearly black in the blue darkness of the Estate, were dripping into a small pool under the trap. As her attempt to open the trap failed, she turned her face towards him. Any bravado she’d had earlier was gone. Genuine fear filled her eyes. He’d know it anywhere. It was how she always looked at him.

This was the real Meg, after all.

The Trapper approached her slowly, ensuring she could see his empty hands as he took steps towards her. She seemed to take note of the fact that he had no weapon - her eyes flitted nervously over to his hand, expecting it. As he drew closer, Meg shifted her weight onto her free knee, trying to tug her trapped leg out. She screamed again and Evan let out resigned sigh. She certainly was determined to escape. Or maybe the terror and adrenaline was making her act irrationally. Another cry wrenched from the girl as she made a third attempt. 

“Stop that.” Evan demanded gruffly. His voice was still coarse from disuse. “You’re hurting yourself.”

She did, surprisingly. Meg stared at him, her large eyes brimming with tears from the pain searing through her leg. Interesting. He hadn’t expected that to work. He could only assume it was the novelty of being addressed directly by a killer. Now that she’d stopped attempting to rip her own foot off, Evan crouched beside her. 

That sent a fresh wave of panic through the trapped girl. She bent defensively, her shoulders brought up and her teeth bared in an instinctive snarl. Evan knew to proceed carefully. It was always cornered animals that attacked the most viciously. 

His hands fastened around either side of the trap. He didn’t look at Meg as he continued, he didn’t need to. He knew all too well how frightening it must be for her. And hearing him earlier likely hadn’t done her image of him any favors, either. 

He pulled the jaws back with relative ease. The traps were strong to survivors, but the superhuman strength bestowed upon him by the Entity made handling them far easier. Meg immediately pulled her wounded leg safely out of range of the jaws. Only after she’d done that did Evan remove his hands. The trap hurled shut with a metallic snap. 

Meg remained crouched there. Her ankle still bled profusely, and her small chest heaved as she stared at him. Her face perfectly illustrated her confusion, albeit through the pain she must be in. Evan pushed the trap aside with one fluid motion, leaning forward to collect the girl from the ground. She gave an indignant hiss as his hands moved to put her in the familiar position over his shoulder. But ultimately there was nothing she could do.

“Let me go!” She demanded, and he felt her small fists make contact with his scarred back. She wriggled furiously on his shoulder, grunting as she tried to free herself from yet another restraint. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to take her. Evan returned to the shack, carrying her through the doorway. He located the table quickly, using one hand to steady Meg and using the other to broadly brush away the clutter.

“I said let me g-!” She protested, only to stop as she felt arms on her waist.

Evan set her down on the newly cleared work table. Meg drew her knees close to her, leaning back on her hands. She winced as bumped her leg against the edge, a hiss escaping through her teeth from the sudden surge of pain. When she opened her eyes, the beast who’d carried her inside was gone.

The sudden noise of a storage locker opening to her right drew her attention. She whirled to look at it. The Trapper had broadly flung both doors open, apparently perusing the contents. From her place on the table, Meg could make out small boxes and scraps of metal. He evidently found what he was looking for, as one hand reached inside to pull out an object that remained unseen to Meg. 

Her heart raced as he approached again. There was no telling what he had. He'd clearly taken her back to the shack for something, and she could only imagine it was sinister. Meg felt more vulnerable than she had since her first Trial. 

A first aid kit dropped in her lap. 

Meg was only able to blink at it in bewilderment. She tilted her head down, then up to look at The Trapper's expressionless face. He'd crossed his arms over his broad chest, gazing down at her expectantly. 

“You've gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Meg murmured incredulously. 

The Trapper shook his head.

“Okay. Alright.” Meg began, her unease starting to dissolve as his intentions became clear. 

She popped open the kit, and surely enough it was met with the same sort of supplies she was used to seeing. Claudette was much better with them - she had a natural knack for healing it seemed. But she'd been gracious enough to pass some of that knowledge onto Meg. 

As Meg started to apply salve and bandage her wound, The Trapper lumbered away. He returned to his chair, bending to pick up his mask and pull it back over his face. He sat back down.

“Why are you helping me?” Meg asked after a moment.

The Trapper didn't seem keen on responding. She wondered if he even heard her, and was about to repeat herself before he spoke.

“We're not in a Trial.” He replied simply, voice low and hoarse. After a slight pause, he added. “You should have been more careful.”

“You're the one who set the damn thing.” She retorted. “I don't see how that's my fault.”

“It wasn't for you.” The masked man said. “You're not even supposed to be here.” With that, his pale wooden visage turned to face her. Meg found that she much preferred him with it off. 

“I went for a run. I got lost.” She explained with a noncommittal roll of her shoulders. “Really lost.”

Evan wasn’t entirely sure he believed her. 

“It doesn’t matter how you got here.” He grunted. “You can rest, and then you leave.”

“Fine.” Meg said, tilting her head down to pay attention to her wounded ankle. She pulled a long strip of gauze out of the kit and slowly began to wrap it around the punctures left by the teeth of the trap. 

The next few minutes passed in silence as Meg tended to her wound. Eventually, the bandages had been stained a deep red - but she could only hope it was enough to slow the bleeding down to a trickle. She tried putting some pressure on it. Pain still surged up her leg as she did so, causing her to wince. The aid had slowed the bleeding, but it hadn't healed the pain. Hardly anything seemed to do that aside from death or a dreamless sleep by the campfire.

Meg resigned herself to the fact that she'd be limping all the way back to the campfire. With a push from her arms, she slid off the table and slowly lowered herself onto the ground. Despite doing her best not to put too much weight on her injured leg, the pain resurfaced and she let out a cry.

“I said you could rest.” The Trapper's husky voice sounded from her left.

“I'm fine now.” Meg lied. She took another staggering step towards the door. Her head turned over her shoulder to check on the Killer. He remained in his chair, watching her from behind that wooden mask.

He made no move to stop her, to her immediate surprise. Meg continued to limp towards the entrance of the shack, eventually making it outside and disappearing into the mist.

Evan leaned back in his chair once he saw her form vanish. It groaned slightly beneath him. What a bizarre encounter that had been. A survivor outside of a Trial? And Meg, of all of them? If he didn't know directly of it's indifference, he would think that the Entity itself was mocking his lust for her. 

Evan sighed. Actually meeting Meg had gone nothing like it did his fantasy. But he'd have been foolish to think otherwise. Evan MacMillan knew who he was. What he was. Her fear and hatred for him was only natural. And he could never blame her for it. 

Really, he tried to convince himself, it was the only outcome there could've been. The best possible one, at least. Meg would leave and return to the campfire, where she belonged. Perhaps she would understand that he didn't hate her, and that everything he did during Trials wasn't personal - only necessary.

Yes. She'd go back to the campfire. And that pleased him. She was probably already on her way n-

“Hey. Uh…”

Meg's voice snapped Evan out of his trance-like musing. He spun towards the source. Surely enough, it was her. Still here, after all of this time. She was lingering in the doorway, her head peering inside. 

“So, not to bother you or anything, but uh… which way is ‘out’?” She asked a bit sheepishly. 

“Head to the big tree in the middle of the woods,” Evan instructed gruffly. 

He raised himself up from his chair, walking towards the door and raising one massive arm to indicate the direction of the landmark. Meg scurried aside, perhaps a bit too wary to let him stand beside her. Evan paid her no mind. 

“From there, you'll head west until you come back to your campfire.” He glanced down. 

Meg was staring at him, and for just a moment he was certain that their gazes met. Only then did Meg turn away. 

“Right.” She said quietly. “And which way is west again?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you mean west relative to where I am? That just means go left. West to the tree? I mean, I don't have a compass, I'm pretty sure they don't even work here, and I-”

Evan groaned as she continued to babble. 

Wordlessly, he began walking.

From behind him, he heard the uncertain voice of his unexpected companion.

“Wait! Hey, where are you going?” She called. With a glance over his shoulder, Evan noticed that she hadn't moved at all, though she did look a bit unstable, trying to keep her weight primarily on her healthy leg. 

“To the tree.” He grunted simply. 

He paused just to make sure she would follow, and surely enough she did. Meg hobbled toward him. Despite her injury, she seemed more than prepared to make the trek on her own. He had to admire that about her - Meg always had the determination to defy her situation. When she drew as close as she would, he began walking again. 

The MacMillan estate was large. The forest on the outskirts one of the biggest areas. But Evan knew these lands well. They'd been his hunting grounds for most of his life. First animals. Then escaping workers. 

Meg gave a soft grunt behind him. He turned to check on her, but the grunt wasn't intentionally soft, he realized. It was far away. The girl was moving at a far slower pace, and he'd left her quite far back on the trail. Evan became acutely aware of advantage in both size and speed as he began moving back to her.

“I'm fine,” she insisted again as the large man drew near. “Just… don't expect me to be sprinting around.”

“I don't.” The monster responded bluntly. 

Suddenly, Meg felt the ground fall away from her shoes. Two strong arms had fastened themselves around her before she had time to react. She could only manage a startled yelp as she was hoisted into the air. Same old same old with this guy, she thought before he'd settled on her position. Unlike previous instances, however, Meg wasn't flung over one shoulder like a prisoner. Instead, he carried her with an arm beneath her back and under her knees. A bridal carry, if she remembered correctly. It was a welcome change, at the very least.

“Hey, what are you doing?” She asked, staring up at the mask.

“This is faster.” He grunted.

“Eager to get rid of me, huh?” Meg sniped from his chest.

The Trapper didn't offer her teasing a response. He simply began to walk further into the blue haze of the forest, towards what Meg could only trust was the tree he mentioned. Perhaps a wiser survivor wouldn't have been so eager to snark at a killer. 

But if he really wanted to hurt her, surely he would have by now. There had been so many opportunities. 

Meg felt her brows furrow as she grew silent, feeling his gait and watching nearly identical trees pass them by.

Whatever his reason for sparing her, Meg was thankful that he'd decided against punishing her trespassing. And he hadn't seemed to question exactly how long she had been watching earlier - another thing she was grateful for. But perhaps he was just avoiding the awkwardness of the situation as much as she was.

The idea almost made her smile, as stupid as it was. Good to know that even beasts like him could feel embarrassment. 

Before long, a massive, gnarled tree in the middle of a clearing came into view. Meg had seen it before during Trials. The size of it was daunting to say the least, but at the same time there was something ancient and otherworldly about it. The Trapper's support beneath her knees began to come away and she felt herself slowly being returned to the earth. 

Meg steadied herself after she was released, glancing over her shoulder to see The Trapper approaching one side of the tree. She limped after him, but he hadn't ventured far.

“That way.” He raised a massive hand, pointing into the depths of the forest. “Go straight. You won't get lost.”

Meg nodded and began to do just that. Her leg was still in bad condition, but at least with the lift she had been able to forget it momentarily as she kept her weight off of it. Still, she had endured much worse. A walk back to the Campfire was preferable to another death.

After a moment, she stopped.

“Hey. I don't know what your deal is, but… thanks.” 

Meg turned to back one last time to face her unexpected companion. But nothing greeted her except the twisted bark of the massive tree and the flickering of fireflies. The Trapper was gone.

Meg hesitated before turning and beginning her journey back to the Campfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was all an elaborate trick to get you all to read my trappermeg slowburn romance


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg reflects on the events of the past few hours and comes to a realization.

Meg did eventually make it back to the Campfire. The others were pleased to see she’d returned - just in time for a Trial, too, and the more pressing matter kept anyone from noticing the fresh wound on her leg. It was the only time Meg had ever been grateful for the dense fog rolling in. 

The resulting Trial had taken them to the familiar junkyard of Autohaven Wreckers, where they'd come across the invisible killer. Meg believed he was called the Wraith. Running was hardly any good, anyway, with the wound still hampering her. Still, she took pride in the fact that she wasn't the first to be sacrificed.

It did happen eventually, and she awoke at the Campfire with the searing pain in her shoulder after the death by the Entity. The phantom pains were always the same, down to the location, but that never made them any less agonizing. Meg groaned and gripped her stomach where the Entity had impaled her before lifting her into its skyward maw.

“Meg?” A familiar voice caused her to raise her head, providing a distraction from the pain.

“Hey,” she managed, turning to face Laurie, who sat neatly on a log to her left.

Laurie's lips pursed into a frown as she realized that Meg's sudden materialization with a newly reformed body could only mean one thing.

“How many generators were left?” She asked.

“Two, I think.” Meg replied, grunting as she stretched. “Maybe one if Dwight worked fast enough. I dunno.”

Laurie’s expression turned to one of concern, but she stayed any doubts she had for the moment.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Same as always,” Meg said, lowering her arms. “But you never really get used to being eaten by a giant sky spider.”

A tight grin appeared on Laurie’s face, but Meg could tell that there was something more on her mind. Meg didn't consider herself as perceptive of others emotions as someone like Claudette, but it appeared they were the only ones at the Campfire.

“Hey, they'll be fine.” Meg assured her, the dull pain in her torso starting to subside. “I mean, even if they die, they'll just pop back up here.”

“I know.” Laurie said, her false grin fading slightly. “It's just… this entire thing is horrible, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” Meg said quietly. 

“I wish it didn't have to happen at all.” Laurie murmured.

“Speak for yourself.” Meg said, rubbing the spot on her shoulder that was so often torn through by hooks.

There was a slight pause, and then Laurie spoke again.

“Did you see…”

“Jake?” Meg finished her sentence for her, already predicting who the young blonde meant. “No. Not after you were sacrificed.”

“Oh.” Laurie said a bit stiffly, one hand raising to tuck a golden lock of hair behind her ear. 

Meg saw her eyes dart to the floor, and a snide smirk crept over her lips. As much as she tried to keep teasing to a minimum in these situations, it was clear that someone needed to lighten the mood. Besides, Laurie could handle a bit of ribbing about her bond with Jake.

“Don't worry, Laurie, I won't tell your boyfriend you were worried about him.” She crooned, drawing her fingers over her lips to emphasize her silence. 

The insinuation caused Laurie to look up, a distinctive pink hue coming to her cheeks.

“It's not like that! You know how Jake is about doing gens.” She protested, but Meg saw her bottom lip catch between her teeth, if only for a moment, and she knew she'd won. 

Meg laughed as she fell backwards into the dirt near the Campfire.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Laurie. But don't think I haven't noticed how you guys are.” She said, lounging on her back for a moment before rolling onto her knees and pushing off to stand. A few quick brushes over her clothes dispersed the dust and dirt she's gathered.

“How we are?” Laurie echoed, raising a brow at Meg.

“Oh, y'know, it's just that you're the only person I've ever seen him speak more than a few words to. And you made him laugh! I didn't think he could at all.” Meg elaborated. “And he always seems to go right for you the second you're hooked…”

Meg trailed off and looked over at her, smirking. 

“Want me to go on?” She asked.

“That's fine, I think I see your point.” Laurie said.

The two exchanged a laugh at Laurie’s apparent defeat, with Meg moving to come sit beside her friend on the log. As she did, Laurie scooted to the side to make some room for her. Meg seated herself, running a hand through the unkempt plait on the top of her head.

“Hey Laurie?”

“Yeah?” 

“Can I… tell you something?”

“Of course you can.” The younger girl assured her. “Anything.”

Meg took a deep breath, steeling herself for the strange interaction she was about to recount. How she met the Trapper outside of a Trial - and how he let her go. He even helped her, in his own gruff way. And then there was the matter of what he'd been doing beforehand. She debated heavily on that particular piece of information. Perhaps it was too strange. She didn't want to alarm Laurie, after all.

With her hands tightly clenched together, Meg finally spoke.

“So I was out in the woods the other day,” She began innocuously.

Laurie nodded.

“And I…” Meg felt her nerves finally starting to rise. “I found…”

Just then, the girls both became aware of a pained groan from their right. It could only mean one thing - another one of their fellow survivors had been sacrificed and was reforming here. Laurie and Meg turned their heads in the direction of the sound. Sure enough, the form of Jake Park was starting to construct itself on the ground. It was an almost beautiful process, Meg thought, as the body was remade with the golden singe-marks of the Entity until it was complete. 

“Jake!” Laurie called, unable to resist the urge to head over to him. As common as the occurrence was, it was still agonizing for even the hardiest among them. David King even mentioned how much of a ‘right bitch it was,’ and Meg could toast to that. 

Meg followed as her friend crouched beside him, careful not to touch him until the last of the Entity’s singe-marks had disappeared. Jake grunted, always adverse to screaming even when his body was being remade by a god. Showoff.

“Jake, are you alright?” Laurie asked as the glow vanished.

The scruffy man opened an eye at her.

“Better now.”

Meg rolled her eyes. 

Laurie gave him a relieved smile, though the concern hadn’t drained entirely from her eyes. She nudged him playfully before standing up and offering him a hand. Jake grunted as he got to his feet.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to get you,” He apologized.

“It’s fine, really.” Laurie assured him. “What happened back there?” She glanced around, realizing that all of the original members of the Trial were present - save for one.

“The gates were open. I was already hooked. Saw Dwight coming for me, no idea if he got out.” He looked over their sparsely-populated campfire. “If he's not back yet, he will be soon.”

Laurie nodded, then turned back to Meg.

“Sorry, Meg, what were you saying?” She asked, a hint of an apology in her tone.

Meg looked up, her previous wave of boldness in confidence gone. She trusted Laurie, but Jake's sudden arrival cast doubt on how her confession would be received. 

“Oh!” She said, pretending to have forgotten herself. “I found some really cool flowers out there. I was hoping you and Claudette could help me gather them. Y'know, make some offerings.” 

It wasn't a lie, Meg assured herself. Just not what she'd meant to say.

Laurie looked at her, and for a moment Meg thought she saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. But if it was there, Laurie didn't act on it. Instead, she nodded.

“Sounds good to me.” She said. 

“Yeah,” Meg replied, walking around the two. “In fact, I think I'll go get some now.” She made her way to the trees at the edge of the Campfire, rummaging through the roots of a tree where she kept her stash of stolen prizes from Trials. Her flashlight was there - Laurie often insisted she bring it with her when she ventured into the Fog alone.

Jake and Laurie exchanged a glance.

“Just be careful out there.” Laurie advised.

“You know me, guys. I'll be fine. See ya soon.” Meg assured them, though she wasn't entirely sure if Jake cared what happened.

With that, she turned and hopped over the log in a display of her signature athleticism and started to jog into the dense, dark woods.

Once she was a safe distance away from the Campfire, the familiar blue hue began to set in. She’d drawn close to the Macmillan Estate once more. Perhaps she was testing fate, but Meg’s fear of the monster living there had considerably waned since their last encounter. She approached a small cluster of trees that looked rather sheltered. Meg relaxed against the largest of them all, dwelling on the strange encounter she'd had with this realm’s mysterious inhabitant. 

His mercy was jarring, and equally surprising to her. But the thing that Meg couldn’t forget was the way she caught him.

Had the Trapper really been masturbating to her? It sounded ridiculous to even suggest, and maybe she would've denied the possibility if he'd just made formless nosies. But no, he said her name, and he said it clearly. In her mind, that left very little room to speculate what other Megs he must have been thinking of. 

It all seemed too clear in her mind to be imagined. Meg had never been a terribly creative person, she barely remembered her own dreams half of the time. No, she was more preoccupied with reality.

She shuddered as she remembered his huge cock, closing her legs instinctively. It was massive, Meg couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd possibly manage to fit it inside any of her holes. Not without considerable pain for herself, at least. 

Assuming she ever let him, that was. And her permission clearly must mean something, as he wasn't on her like a rutting beast when he discovered her there. 

Would she ever let him? 

Meg didn't have an answer for herself. The other survivors at the Campfire were her closest friends and companions, but she'd never felt a particularly strong sexual attraction to any of them. Claudette was sweet, Jake was mysterious, David was strong - but nobody stoked the heat between her legs like seeing the Trapper.

Somehow, despite her better judgement, she wanted to imagine herself with a partner. Nobody from the campfire felt right in her fantasy. It was far too awkward to imagine herself with any of them. Part of Meg was a bit envious of how other survivors had so easily sparked relationships with one another. David and Dwight could often be found calming one another after Trials. Jake was gentle and friendly with Laurie in a way he wasn't with anyone else. Even Claudette and Nea had started to grow close lately. 

To Meg's dismay, she realized that she didn't have a close companion. She had friends, certainly, ones she loved and would die for - but at the crowded campfire it was surprisingly easy to feel alone. 

It was easier just to think of the Trapper. The absurdity of it all felt less jarring than a survivor in his stead.

So Meg imagined that she was being fucked by the Trapper.

And as much as she hated to admit it, Meg was aroused. 

She was grateful for the fact that her excitement was much easier to conceal, otherwise she may have been confronted on why she had been watching him. But she'd never seen the Trapper so vulnerable before. She'd never seen his cock, and that had probably been her only chance. 

At least the memory seemed incapable of leaving her. She sighed, her hands moving to caress her inner thighs absently. 

He was absolutely massive, boasting a long shaft with a thick head. A good girth from what she could tell, and a slight upward angle. It was the kind of cock Meg only saw in pornos before.

And she wanted it. 

She thought about the Trapper mounting her from behind, how his strong hands might feel around her in a way that wasn't threatening. He'd touched her without malice before, after all. What if he did it again?

Meg shuddered, thinking about that huge cock rubbing against her vulva, thrusting slowly and teasingly between her thighs. Would he take his time, savoring her before taking her? Or would he ravage her like an animal, unable to stay away for another minute? Meg felt herself grow warm as she mused on the possibilities, her hand slipping lower to gently rub at her clothed sex. 

She gave a small sigh as her fingertips found the bundle of nerves that sent waves of pleasure through her. Though it was frustrating to rub herself through the material of her pants, Meg also found it even more tantalizing, in a way. It was an obstacle, a denial that made her even more desperate.

She let her legs fall apart, leaning back against the tree for support. Her other hand drifted lower, two fingers probing teasingly at her inaccessible slit. She could feel surprisingly well through the thin material of her tight leggings. But Meg was sure this wasn't a benefit they intended when designing them.

As she touched herself, fingers applying pressure to both her clit and entrance, Meg let her mind wander.

What would he be like? She was sure that she'd never find out for herself, but at least it was a mutual curiosity they both shared in one another. Meg wanted to believe he would be strong, stone-faced. Maybe a bit quiet - until he came. Remembering his roar sent a tiny quiver down her spine, and a bit of pride rushed through her chest once she recognized she was the cause.

He'd be a challenge to take, that much she knew. Meg bit her lower lip as she thought of that huge cock again, trying her best to imagine how he'd go about filling her with it. He'd have to hold her down, she decided, because otherwise she might instinctively react to the pain. And she would have to stay still, feeling every inch of his monstrous cock forcing its way inside her. 

Fuck.

Meg was growing hotter and hotter, her imagination running wild as she thought about his strong hands on her waist. The way his cock would stretch her out. His breath on her neck through the teeth of his mask.

In a sudden haze of need, Meg's fingers gripped the edge of her elastic leggings and yanked them down around her thighs. A few inches of her pale, freckled skin were revealed, along with her pink panties. Her hands immediately returned, teasing herself once again. 

But it was quickly becoming obvious that Meg needed something more than her fingers. In her spare time, she would sometimes sneak off from the campfire to please herself. With little else to enjoy in this bleak dimension, it happened more often than Meg liked to admit. 

She'd gotten used to the sensation of two or three inside her at once. It hardly matched what she imagined the wonderful pain of the Trapper's cock to be like. Meg let out a frustrated sigh, resigning herself to just trying to make do… until she noticed the flashlight at her side.

No. There was no way she was going to… Meg tried to reason with the irrationally horny part of her brain. She didn't know where that had been, though she did know she had been using it for a while. If any flashlight was going to be used like this, it may as well be her own. 

Before Meg's reasonable side could cut off this idea, she was already unscrewing the top, tilting it over to coax the batteries onto the forest floor. She smirked, putting the top back on and quickly placing the shaft of the flashlight between her legs.

It was certainly a unique shape, and not at all like her vibrator from back home. But until she found a better alternative, this would have to make do. Meg tilted her hips against the shaft, rubbing the already damp underside of her panties with the flashlight. She struck her clit with a rotation of her hips, doing her best to suppress a small mewl of pleasure.

Perhaps it was dangerous just lingering in the Fog with her pants down. But Meg hadn’t wandered too far from the MacMillan Estate - the blue haze was still present around her. Besides, the Campfire would take away her privacy and reduce her to only being able to think about the Trapper.

She needed this. No matter how stupid she was being, the urge to relieve some of her lust was overwhelming. She could only lean back against the tree and fantasize, pants around her knees and flashlight between her thighs.

Now it was time to return to her fantasy to ease her nerves. She hasn't entirely left the Estate yet. The Trapper could still be prowling around in the mist, and maybe he would see her. The idea both revolted and excited Meg. What would he do, she wondered. Would he stay hidden and watch as the object of his affections played with herself? Or would he seize the opportunity and help her along?

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Meg secretly hoped for the latter.

Meg bit her lower lip as the base of the flashlight probed at her entrance, already slick from need. She thought about the beast coming to investigate her soft whimpers only to find her vulnerable and exposed. She'd nod at him and, for once, their roles in the Entity's twisted games would mean nothing.

He would take a large hand and grip either thigh, able to wrap his fingers around them completely. And he'd force her legs apart without so much as a thought. Meg remembered how small she had always been to him, and the way he would be over her filled her with an exciting sense of helplessness.

Meg imagined a hand coming away from her thigh, gently moving between her legs and dragging his knuckles over her velvety cunt. Rubbing her before eventually testing her arousal with a massive finger.

Meg gasped and pushed the base of the flashlight in to mimic the sensation. It lacked the comfortable natural curves of a finger or a cock, but it worked. She slowly forced it inside, savoring the opportunity to be penetrated again. Meg hadn't had sex since her senior year of high school. It'd been far too many lonely nights with her toys since she'd gotten to feel anything real.

Not that this was exactly real, but it was close enough. The thick base of the flashlight smoothly entered her, met with little resistance from her arousal. She relaxed herself to make the entry even easier, slowly pushing until the base of the lens plugged her comfortably.

After taking as much as she could, Meg leaned back, savoring the feeling of being filled for the first time in what felt like ages. Maybe it wouldn't offer her the same experience as a real lover, but she was desperate. With her bare legs wide, Meg gripped the lens of the flashlight and slowly began to pump it in and out.

With her hand occupied by the simple motion, Meg's mind started to wander back to the Trapper. It wasn't really intentional, she tried to assure her guilty conscience - it happened because their strange encounter had been on her mind lately. 

It had nothing to do with his muscular arms. Or his strength. Certainly not his size. Especially not his daunting, exhilarating size.

Meg's other hand slowly trailed down her toned stomach until it reached her clit, slightly swollen with need. She closed her eyes just as she applied pressure with three fingers, giving a soft whine as she started to work herself.

It was seven different types of wrong, verging just on sinful, but Meg couldn't think of anything she'd wanted as much. Maybe it was desperation, maybe loneliness, maybe just raw carnal desire that she couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard she tried.

Her pumping of the shaft started to intensify, thrusting in and out of Meg's slick cunt as she rubbed her clit. The pleasure coming from it caused her hips to buck against her hand and the flashlight. She wasn’t going to go easy on herself, the intensity of the thrusting filling her with a wonderful soreness from the way it stretched her. And this was only a sampling of what it would be like to have the Trapper inside her. Meg moaned softly as she angled the thrusts to hit her g-spot, nearly shuddering from the way it felt. 

She imagined him pressing her against the tree, cock pounding into her at the same rate her hand was going. She wanted to feel him in a way she never had before. And that both worried and excited her. He would be rough and merciless this time - at least in her fantasy. Meg whined thinking about how he’d hold her to him when he finished, growling her name again and pumping her full of more cum than she could ever possibly hold. Imagining it overflowing from her tight hole was finally what did it.

Meg came with that mental image helping her along. She whimpered as the high hit her, causing her to shudder and her walls to tighten around the shaft of the light. She continued to thrust through it, not even letting herself rest after the heat of her orgasm. For just a few ecstatic seconds nothing else mattered. The Trials, the Entity, the killers, the other survivors. All of her worries faded, and Meg released a deep exhale and started to relax. 

She leaned back against the tree in the wake of it all, breathing heavily and feeling the sheen of sweat over her forehead. At least they’d believe she was running around. The momentary relief was over, and Meg pulled the flashlight out of her before setting it on an exposed root. She tugged her pants back up and got to her feet. 

She still had to go collect amaranth to convince the others of her alibi. But it was worth it for the time alone. She’d needed that more than she realized. Through the experience, she realized that she needed something else, too. 

She needed to talk to the Trapper again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Evan have a talk.

Now that she was alone and had finished relieving a bit of tension, Meg took the opportunity to pick the amaranth that she'd mentioned to the other survivors. She hadn't been lying when she said that she found a promising full patch on her way back from the Estate. And using her memory of the path, she located it again and began to pluck as many blooms as possible.

It was amazing anything could grow here at all, Meg mused. Assuming they were real, that was. But the soft petals felt as delicate as natural flowers. If they were replicas, they were quite convincing.

As she gathered the flowers, Meg eventually started to notice a dense fog beginning to coil at her feet. Above her, the familiar caws of distant crows announced her fate. She cursed quietly. Why was it that Trials always had to start when she was a good run from the Campfire? Was the Entity purposefully trying to keep her from stretching her legs?

Once she'd stuffed as much as she could carry into the pack on her belt, Meg started back to the Campfire. It didn't matter if she was there or not by the time the Trial began, the Fog marked her and it would take her no matter where she was. Still, if she could make it back in time, there was a chance she could burn the flowers as an offering for herself and whoever was unlucky enough to be pulled along with her.

She took off in a sprint back towards the Campfire, bounding over fallen logs and taking full advantage of her history as a track star. For a moment, with the wind in her hair, and adrenaline coursing through her veins…. Meg felt _alive_.

It was fleeting, however. Meg eventually caught sight of the glow of the Campfire through the trees. She only needed a few more paces before she arrived. She skidded to a stop between two of the fallen logs they used for seats, her breathing heavy from the exertion of sprinting back.

“Meg’s back!” She heard Laurie call from the small crowd that had amassed in her absence. Meg glanced around the gathering to find the source.

Instead she saw the Fog building at the feet of a few others. Dwight was one, Jake was another.

“There's our fourth!” She heard a deep, accented voice from behind her. David King had appeared suddenly, giving her a rough pat on the back that nearly sent her barreling forward.

Great.

Meg steadied herself and watched as David sauntered over to the other men who had been chosen for the Trial.

“Right then, you lot ready?” He asked, sounding perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about the upcoming Trial.

Jake didn't reply. He instead opened his toolbox and began inspecting the contents. It was some form of preparation, at least.

Dwight managed a nod and an adjustment of his glasses. The blood on his white shirt told Meg that he'd probably managed to escape the previous Trial. For a moment, she felt a pang of pity. At least being sacrificed healed you of your fatigue and wounds.

David looked over the unenthusiastic group with his arms crossed.

“Savin’ your energy for the fight, eh?” He asked.

“Sorry, David.” Meg's breathing had slowed enough that her speech was level. “Not all of us are dying to get into a fistfight with a killer.”

David turned to look at her, flashing a crooked grin.

“Aye, Red, ‘eard you was off pickin’ daisies.” He sniped. “Go ahead ‘n throw ‘em on, will ya?” With that, he tilted his head towards the Campfire.

Meg glanced down at their feet. The Fog was growing ever denser, and the way that it slowly moved around the Campfire meant that she didn't have long to take advantage of the amaranth before they were transported off to some twisted realm. She opened her satchel, digging around with one hand and approaching the fire. Her fingers supporting the buds fell away, releasing them into the jaws of the starved flames.

She took a step back as they floated into the fire, instantly consumed and burning before her eyes. She was unable to turn away for a moment, watching as the glowing embers and smoke rose unnaturally towards the sky. A distant, inhuman groan echoed throughout the forest - and then all was still.

Meg turned back to her companions for this Trial. They all had been watching the fire as well.

“Don’t suppose any of you have something to cough up, huh?” Meg asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Jake didn’t offer her a response. Dwight meekly shook his head.

“Not this time,” David said.

“Doesn’t matter.” Meg concluded suddenly. “We wouldn’t have time for another, anyway.”

Behind them, a massive wall of fog was amassing. Even in the dark, it was unnaturally white and nearly ethereal. Meg raised a finger to gesture to it, starting to wash between the men’s shoulders. It snaked around them, more a wave than any sort of natural Fog. No, this was an extension of the Entity itself. From what she understood, anyway. Gods could have many forms, many vessels.

She missed the days when they were just stories.

The men turned, gazing into the encroaching barrier of mist. Dwight gave a small jump at the realization of how close it was, but David’s firm hand on his shoulder calmed him down. Meg looked over her shoulder one last time to take in the other survivors around the campfire. Many of them looked worn, fatigued. Some tended to themselves, but Meg saw Laurie looking in their direction. A single glance in Jake’s direction confirmed that they were gazing at one another with an unspoken, tender concern.

Meg looked once more over the inhabitants of the campfire. No eyes were on her.

The fog continued to roll in, apathetic to the inhabitants of the Campfire. Meg could see nothing but white as her vision was completely obscured. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was being transported, or if the world around her was changing. But she knew one thing - and that when the mist cleared, she and the others chosen would be somewhere far from the comfort of the fire. She’d seen it happen before. The fog would roll over, and when it disappeared so had those chosen for the Trials.

Gradually, the fog began to dissipate. Meg began to look around as the mist dissolved around her. The warm glow of the campfire was long gone, replaced by a somber blue forest. The gentle breeze blew leaves out of the trees around her, and Meg immediately crouched and began to move through the tall grass.

They were at the MacMillan Estate again, and judging on the large structure nearby, Meg could only assume it was the Coal Tower. She immediately began to scout for the nearest gen, turning the corner of a brick alcove to peer around. The sound of pistons firing and machinery clacking drew her attention to the left, where she saw the back of a pale, dirty shirt.

Meg crept closer, raising a single finger to tap on the man’s shoulder.

“ _Dwight_ ,” she whispered.

Dwight jumped at her sudden appearance, spinning around. He was always rather flighty, Meg remembered. He gazed at her with a brief expression of genuine terror before he recognized her face in the darkness and allowed himself to relax.

“Oh, Meg,” he breathed. “It’s just you.”

“Who else would it be, huh?” Meg whispered in return, keeping her voice low as she moved to the adjacent side of the generator.

“The killer,” Dwight replied morbidly, his voice steadying again as he turned to return to his work. The sound of the generator revved back to life as the two survivors poked and prodded at the machine. It always seemed to be easier when Dwight was around, but Meg was taking care not to accidentally blow it up in their face.

“I don’t think they’d be so polite,” Meg countered, trying to keep the mood light. Poor Dwight looked like he was already beginning to sweat - and they hadn’t even heard the heartbeat yet.

“You’re right,” Dwight said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “They’d just stab you.”

“Any idea who it is?” Meg asked.

“No, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Dwight murmured, falling silent as he focused on his work.

Meg hadn’t seen any Jigsaw boxes, and they were quite difficult to miss. The air was calm, unlike how the presence of the Doctor seemed to electrify the atmosphere. Meg strained her ears to hear above the noise of the generator for any distinct sounds for louder killers, such as the screeches of the Nurse or the chainsaw revving of the Hillbilly or Cannibal.

The killers seemed to appear more often in their own realms, but it was all up to the whims of the Entity. Perhaps she was being hopeful, but this meant that there was a good possibility that they were facing the Trapper. It was wrong - the way that prospect sent flutters of excitement through her stomach.

Too hopeful, indeed. Meg was hardly paying attention to the way one of the cogs had jammed and was whirring with the need to be corrected. She only noticed when the generator gave an explosive sputter and the gear corrected itself at the cost of the other repairs she’d made.

“Fuck!” Meg exclaimed, panic starting to overtake her. She wouldn’t have cared if it was just her, but now she had Dwight’s smoke-covered glasses on her.

The heartbeat started not long after. In their small alcove was a locker that one of them could hide in, but it would be too obvious. Dwight stood with shaking knees, his eyes wide as they listened to the unnatural thudding of the killer’s heartbeat.

“You can have the locker,” Meg instructed. “I’ll run and keep his attention off of you.”

“But Meg-” Dwight protested weakly.

“I’m faster than you. I’ll be fine,” she countered sternly. “Now go.”

Dwight nodded, quietly accepting her reasoning and quickly making his way towards the locker. Meg watched as he opened the door and slid inside, flashing her one more fearful look before disappearing between the painted metal doors. The heartbeat thudded in her ears now, coming ever closer. Meg braced herself to run, crouching near the palette.

The heartbeat was impossibly loud. Finally, the loud, thudding of a killer’s footsteps could be heard from around the alcove. She prepared to see the form of the killer emerging from between the brick walls, weapon in hand. Her adrenaline was pumping. She was ready. But she saw nothing.

Meg took a step back and collided with something firm. She yelped at the sudden collision, recovering from it to see the massive form of the Trapper looming over her. His weapon in one hand, a trap in another. His hand with his cleaver extended, and Meg felt her stomach tighten.

_Had their encounter not changed anything at all?_

“Please.” Meg whispered, unable to think of much else as he brought his cleaver up.

Instead of striking her, the Trapper simply moved one full hand to her shoulder, gently nudging her aside. The girl couldn’t help but step out of the way, giving him full access to the palette. Meg felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest - this was the closest she had ever been to him. And he wasn’t hunting her.

She watched with wide blue eyes as he bent to set up a trap, doing it with surprising ease. She’d felt how strong the traps were, and he opened them like they were nothing.

“Don’t let me see you again.” He warned, voice rumbling. He stepped back after he set the trap.

Her brain froze. She didn’t know how to address him.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet.” The Trapper replied gruffly. “Go.”

Meg hoped that the encounter would distract the Trapper from investigating the locker. With a final nod of gratitude, she bounded off in the opposite direction, careful to avoid any potentially loaded traps on the way.

From there, she immediately began to dwell on how she would manage to talk to him privately. It was impossible in their current situation - he had a job to do, and she had teammates relying on her aid in repairing the generators. Meg made her way to another, getting to work and starting to plan.

For now, doing the generators took her top priority. As much as she wanted to talk to the Trapper, she had an obligation to the other survivors that came first. The Trapper may be merciful towards her, but she doubted that her teammates would receive that same privilege. So Meg focused especially hard on the generator, and after several minutes of working, it finally popped. In the distance, she heard another follow shortly after.

She spent the remainder of the Trial out of sight, presumably after David finished the other gens. For the rest of the time, she worked in relative isolation, save for bumping into Jake diligently sabotaging a hook. She knew by now to stay out of his way. David was hooked later on, and Meg arrived just in time to see Dwight struggling to pull him off of the hook. She retreated again to another gen, and by then it was the final one.

When it popped, Meg heard the distinctive sound of the exit gates powering up, flooding her veins with adrenaline and her instincts screaming for her to run. She did make it to an exit gate, opening it up for her companions. In time, Jake eventually approached, clutching his side and dripping blood. She took the opportunity to exercise what little healing skills she knew on him, as he wordlessly thanked her and disappeared through the gates.

To Meg’s knowledge, neither David or Dwight had been sacrificed. They’d been hooked, sure, but her suspicion was confirmed as she travelled to the other exit gate. It was already open, and a blood trail lead away. Meg could only hope it meant Dwight and David had managed to escape. If that was true, it meant that Meg was finally alone in the Trial.

Alone with the Trapper.

She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself of her safety. This idea verged on insanity, she realized, but it was a rare opportunity. And she had to take what she could get.

Meg lightly trekked through the grass, weaving between dense forest and the brick walls as she looked for the beast of a man. He must know that at least one survivor was still here, given the way that the Trial was still technically continuing. Meg only hoped that his desperation to please the Entity wouldn’t drive him to go back on his decision not to hurt her.

Finally, she saw him in the distance. He slammed a locker shut after opening it, clearly frustrated by not discovering a survivor inside. She watched from a distance as he stomped off towards the coal tower, and once he disappeared inside Meg raised herself from the earth and followed him.

The coal tower gave a groan as she approached. It certainly looked old, but she had spent enough time in it to know that it was perfectly stable - despite its outward appearance. She slowly climbed through the window, hearing the sound of the Trapper’s heavy footsteps on the floor above. She ascended the stairs, peering slowly over the top before fully stepping into the upper level.

The Trapper hadn’t noticed her. He was staring out of the window they often used as an escape, gazing over the confines of the Trial - scanning for any sort of movement. Meg wasn’t sure how to approach this. What would she even _say_ to him? What could she possibly do to bridge the divide between them?

She said the only thing she could think of.

“Hey.”

The Trapper turned, his cleaver-bearing arm instinctively flinching at the sudden sound. He slowly relaxed once he realized who it was, returning to his side.

“You again.” He grunted.

“You can use my name, you know.” Meg said, taking a few tentative steps towards him. He didn’t seem to be intent on hurting her, turning his attention back towards the view of the woods below.

“I know you know it.” She challenged. She could practically see him tense up.

He was silent for a few moments before changing the subject.

“What do you want?” The Trapper asked.

“To talk.” Meg replied with more confidence than she felt as she continued her slow approach. He seemed unoffended by her getting closer, which was at least a sign of a stable start. She slid onto one of the crates in the center of the room, settling down with a few creaks of aged wood.

“Go on.” The monster said after a lengthy exhale.

“So what’s with sparing me all of a sudden?” Meg asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” He admitted more openly than Meg could’ve expected. The answer was… surprisingly earnest.

“Why?” She pressed. “What makes me different from any of them?”

“You have always been different.” The beast rumbled. “You are brave. Defiant. You burn like a forge-flame.” He paused for a moment, the mask turning to face her in the dim light of the moon. “You will never stop. Even now, would any of them come to talk to me, if they thought it was possible?”

“Probably not.” Meg admitted. “But that doesn’t mean they deserve to be sacrificed.”

“They don’t.” The Trapper concluded. “None of you do.”

Silence lingered between them for a moment.

“I… um, I also wanted to thank you.” She said, running her fingers absently over the gauze on her upper arm. “For helping me back there - when I ran into that trap. It was pretty dumb of me, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He said, in a tone that almost sounded like assurance. “But you should be more careful.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but careful isn’t really my thing.” She teased, something like a smile gracing her lips. She watched as he finally came closer, kneeling beside her to inspect her ankle. To her own surprise, seeing him come near didn’t fill her with fear. Hearing his heartbeat in her ears was soft, nearly comforting - hardly the terrifying experience it once was.

“How’s your leg?” He asked, looking for any indicators of her previous injury.

“Better now.” She said. “That’s the one benefit of dying during a Trial.”

“I’m sorry.” He replied after a moment, standing again.

“Don’t be. You didn’t do it.” Meg reached out to place a comforting hand on his massive forearm. He glanced down at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. She scooted forward, sitting on the edge of the crate.

“Okay, one last thing.” She said. “I’ve been thinking alot about… things since you helped me get back to the Campfire. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I take no pleasure in hunting you, or any of your friends.” The Trapper said. “But the Entity wills it.”

“No - that’s not it.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“I want you.” Meg whispered.

The Trapper took an abrupt step back, his head moving slightly to either side as he scanned for something. Perhaps other survivors, waiting with their flashlights at the ready. Eventually the dark eyeholes of his mask faced her again.

“What?” He asked, his coarse voice catching. For the first time, Meg saw him display genuine confusion. His broad shoulders had dropped, his stance lacking the authoritative quality it had before.

“You heard me.” She replied. As if her statement alone wasn't bold enough, she pushed off of the crate and took a step towards him.

The Trapper stared at her as she approached. He reminded Meg of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. A big, brutish deer with a mask and a blade. It was amusing enough to bring a pleased smile to her lips.

“I heard you call out for me, y'know. Back at your cabin.” She murmured, her eyes lifting to stare up at the mask. Being this close, she could see his eyes.

“You must want me too, don't you?”

The Trapper shifted his weight and turned his masked face away from her.

“It doesn't matter.” He said after a moment.

“What do you mean?” Meg asked, tilting her head to one side.

“What I want. It doesn't matter.” The Trapper replied gruffly.

“It does to me. And what I want matters to you, too, doesn't it? That's why you let me go.”

The Trapper turned back to her, and for a moment, Meg thought she saw something tender in his gaze. But it was fleeting - after he quelled whatever was burning in his chest, his voice was cold again.

“You didn't belong there. And you don't belong with me. Where you belong is beyond those gates.” He growled, gesturing with the tip of his machete to the window, beyond which lay the open exit gates.

“No, not yet.” Meg insisted. “I don't want to go back, I want to talk to you. I thought we could help one another.”

“There can be no cooperation between us. You _know_ this.”

“Just this once.” Meg said, drawing even closer. Her heart was beginning to race. This was the closest she had ever been to him. She could see the soot on his skin, the scar cutting through his lip, the small wooden teeth on the mask.

“Please, mister MacMillan.” She murmured. “We don't have to be friends, we don’t have to stop doing what we we’re supposed to during Trials, but we can have this.”

She reached for his hand, and was surprised when he allowed her to take it. It was absolutely massive, at least twice the size of her own. She was equally surprised when she felt his calloused fingers rub over her hand, marvelling at the sensation of her smooth skin.

“It wouldn't be real, but we could pretend that things were different. We could be together, just for a little bit.” Meg proposed. Her other hand joined her first in his huge palm.

“I imagine it's pretty lonely out there.” She continued. “I'm lonely, too.”

The beast stood perfectly still, save for the movement of his fingerpads touching her hands. She blinked up at him, and for the first time, she gazed at him in a way that nobody ever had. He didn’t quite recognize the emotion that it stirred in him. It was warm, aching. He wanted to rip the world apart if it meant that he would never have to see her in a Trial again.

Meg took the silence as acceptance. One of her hands slid up his arm, his mask turning away from her face to watch as she touched the rough, leathery skin. She didn’t pull away, the texture was strange but not unpleasant. Suddenly, her fingers touched something hard, and far too smooth to be a natural protrusion. It was metal. Emerging from his skin from a gash in his arm. She pulled away, brows furrowed as she looked over.

For a moment, Meg felt a touch of pity for him. _What happened to change him like this?_ She’d never really thought about it before. The killers had always been monsters.

Meg tentatively placed her hand on his arm again, travelling up towards his shoulders. She noticed a small amount of soot had dusted her hand, but it hardly mattered. This was the kind of touch that Meg had been craving for many moonless nights.

In response to seeing that she couldn't quite reach, he slowly lowered himself to his knees. He was absolutely massive, something she realized as she drew closer. Even kneeling down, his head was just below her own. Meg took a step closer, bringing herself up against him. Her arms still wandered his spike-laden shoulders, until they reached his mask.

He allowed her to touch it, much to her surprise. She felt his warm breath on her neck through the teeth of the mask, but he said nothing.

“Can I?” Meg asked, her hands on either side of the mask.

For a moment, she was worried she had offended him. Perhaps there was some reason he kept it on. Maybe it was a tool to help him appear more like the monster he was supposed to be. Possibilities flashed through Meg's mind until motion distracted her.

He'd cupped his hands over her own and applied enough pressure to guide her in taking the mask off. It came away quite easily. Once again, Meg was face to face with the mysterious man.

Now that she was able to see him up close, Meg got the chance to really observe him. He had dark, focused eyes. A broad nose, but he was missing part of his nostril on one side. A scar running down through his lip told of the blow that had taken it. Above all, Meg was surprised how normal he looked. He wasn't hideous - far from it, if she was honest - and with a wash he could walk among crowds without more than the odd stare.

She raised one hand to touch his face, feeling the ash and the small indentations from his scars. It was only then that she noticed that his hands had returned to his side. Meg frowned slightly and reached for his arm, attempting to guide it to her waist.

“What's the matter?” Meg teased gently. “Afraid you'll break me?”

The Trapper couldn't meet her gaze.

“You won't.” She promised, voice sincere. “I'll be fine. But please... touch me.”

With that, Evan slowly allowed himself to place a hand on her waist. She was so delicate in comparison, but that didn't intimidate Meg as much as it excited her. She grinned as she felt the sudden warmth over her, his large fingers curling around her waist instinctively.

She looked back to his face and saw that his expression had changed. The harsh angle of his thick brows was gone. He gazed at her with a mixture of intrigue and doubt. Meg found herself amused by his hesitation. It was time to assure him that this would be no mistake.

Her eyes closed as she leaned forward, tilting her head so that her lips could easily meet his. She brushed against his mouth with her own, exchanging warm breaths as they lingered on the cusp of breaking every rule they knew.

Neither could really be sure who initiated it, but in an instant they were kissing. Meg felt his mouth against her own - warm, insistent. His other hand had joined the first, wrapping around her and holding her against his chest. Meg's arms draped over his shoulders. The kiss tasted like metal and blood and dirt, but Meg could hardly be bothered. She needed this.

They broke for air, but Meg wasn't content with inaction. She leaned forward again to nuzzle the side of his face eagerly. He relaxed his grip on her waist, now self conscious about how he held her. She kissed at the side of his face insistently before lowering to kiss at his neck.

Whatever she'd done, he clearly hadn't been expecting it. She felt him stiffen beneath her, sharply drawing in a breath of air. Meg purred at the sight. It was nearly a power high in its own right. Getting this beast to melt under her touch.

“You like that?” She murmured softly before returning her lips to his skin.

“Yes,” the man breathed, his voice low and gravelly.

Meg felt a shift beneath her and heard the sound of floorboards creaking as the Trapper raised a knee between her legs. She enthusiastically chose to straddle it, grinding lightly against it before returning to give him another kiss.

“Then show me,” Meg purred as they broke again. She pulled away from him suddenly, his arms falling away as she made an effort to distance herself from him. The man was left confused by her departure, but he didn’t move.

Meg stepped away, finding a nearby crate that sat at about waist-height. She lowered herself onto it, laying her torso across the flat top with her rear pushed up. Her hands hooked around the elastic waistband of her leggings, slowly tugging them down across her round ass. She gave her hips a slow, enticing sway, turning her head to peer over her shoulder at the Trapper.

“Meg,” he began, remaining still.

“Please,” she interrupted, her voice high with need. “Please just come and fuck me, I’ll be so good for you, mister Macmillan.” In an instant, the facade of control she had came away - and she revealed just how desperate she truly was. Meg felt a prickle of irritation. She was offering herself to him like a bitch in heat, and he hadn’t even come closer yet.

She gave her hips another wiggle, her hands gripping either side of her panties and slowly tugging them down. Her soft little sex was gradually revealed to the monster, already slick from need.

She heard him groan softly from behind her. Then, she heard the creak of wood as he took a few steps closer. Meg's heart began to beat faster. Finally, she thought. All her efforts were paying off.

“Please,” she begged, not stopping even as he drew near. “Please, I need your cock. Can't you see it?” Meg asked, one slender hand snaking between her legs to part her slick folds for him.

The footsteps stopped. Meg waited.

Calloused, thick fingers slowly began to run over her vulva. Meg shuddered with satisfaction as the monster touched her the way she'd been hoping for. He seemed a bit unsure of what to do, crouching behind her. Meg tilted her hips back to give him easier access.

“That's good, but I'm all warmed up.” She breathed. “I want your cock. Please, please _fuck_ me.”

There was no motion for a moment. And then his hand came away. Meg remained hopeful that he'd finally oblige her requests. He shifted behind her, getting on his knees and lining himself up with her. His powerful hands slid over her arms, holding her in place. She was nearly trembling with excitement as she felt his weight over her.

She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, shuddering at the sensation. His cock was already rock hard and rubbing between her legs through the overalls. She mewled with anticipation as she tilted her hips up and back, rubbing against him needily.

“Come on,” she whimpered. “I’m ready. I’m ready for you. I need to feel something.”

Meg expected something more. She was waiting for something - the searing pain of his cock thrusting into her, his teeth on her neck, his words in her ear. Anything. But none of those came. Instead, she felt his dominating presence over her slowly come away. He stood behind her for a brief moment before turning to walk away.

“W.. wait. Where are you going?” Meg asked. She looked over her shoulder at him, expression full of disbelief. She quickly stood up, hoping to salvage their tryst.

The Trapper didn't answer her at first. Instead he chose to turn away, and was silent for a few moments.

“This is wrong.” His deep voice was full of authority. “You need to leave, Meg.”

“But we were so close! Please, just once, touch me like you want to. We don't have to tell anyone!”

“Meg,” he sounded nearly exasperated. But hearing her plead so pitifully nearly relapsed his will, if only so she wouldn't sound so hurt. “We can't.”

She stopped. He couldn't look at her face.

“We… can't?” She echoed.

“No.”

Meg stared at him for a moment. It was all she could manage. The sensation was entirely new for her. She knew that she wasn't going to form a meaningful bond with anyone at the Campfire. But she'd humbled herself to the Trapper, and it still wasn't enough.

“Fine.” She said softly. It was far too soft. Evan expected her to burst into a tirade against him when he made the decision to turn her away. But there was none of that. She had redressed, and she merely stood by the crate - looking small.

“It's better this way.” He assured her.

“Is it?” Meg asked.

As much as he knew it was true, Evan wasn't entirely sure he believed it. He hesitated in his response, and Meg took that as an opening to continue.

“Is it really better for us to stay enemies? Or is it just _easier_?” Her tone was calm, but her words were strong enough to scar steel.

He didn't have an answer for her.

Several moments of silence passed between them. Finally, Meg began to walk away from the crate. Evan faced away from her, only aware of her departure through the sound of her footsteps on the floor. Only when her footsteps had faded did he turn back to where she had been standing. The room way now empty, save for himself.

Meg left, turning to round the corner and make her way through the empty woods to the exit. As she made her way to the exit gates, vacant and open for her to pass through, she glanced over her shoulder. Part of her hoped that he would appear, having changed his mind, and stop her.

But no such thing happened.

Meg turned away, walking slowly into the dark forest beyond the gates.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan makes amends. Meg makes promises.

Evan leaned back in his chair. As much as he tried to distract himself, it seemed impossible to put the stubborn survivor out of his mind.

Her proposal was something right out of a fantasy. Everything she did was something he had already imagined her doing, countless times over. He pleased himself to the idea of her on her knees and begging for him. He couldn't remember a single night he hadn't wished to spend beside her. And his yearning for her had only worsened after their encounter.

Something had changed, though. His lust for her was still powerful and ever-present, but it was no longer the main focus of his musings. He thought about her sleeping in his bed after he had already woken up. He wanted to hear her voice as he worked in the foundry. He wanted to hear her say his name, and say it tenderly.

How wrong it was for him to want that.

It was something he could never ask of her. And, in truth, he had never intended to. From the moment he realized what he felt, Evan had been content to harbor his fancy without disrupting the Trials too much. She was never even supposed to learn how charming he found her, but by some cosmic punishment she had.

More surprising was her eventual reaction to it. He expected her to be disgusted by him, by the fact that she was beautiful to him, by how he handled his attraction privately.

It was the last thing he ever expected - her announcing that she wanted him, too. Even now, it hardly felt real. Had they not been in a Trial, he may have thought it a cruel trick by the Entity.

But the disappointment in her eyes was very real.

Evan sighed, leaning forward as he removed his mask. He lifted it off of his head and placed it on the table. For a moment, he turned the face of the mask towards himself and studied it. It was repulsive. Pale and uncanny, with a jagged mouth that formed a brutal grin. This was the face she had grown to associate with him.

How could she want that? Evan wondered as he placed the mask down. It's empty, wicked smile seemed to mock him. With a growl, he turned the face away and turned toward the window.

Despite everything, she did. And it still baffled him, even after many Trials had passed.

But whatever chance he had with her before was gone now.

He had seen her a few times after their last encounter. But things seemed to have returned to normal between them. The first time he encountered her after the night in the coal tower, he stumbled across her fixing a generator in a cornfield. She looked up at him for a moment, frozen.

And then she ran.

He couldn't explain the pain in his chest as she looked at him like he was any other monster. He couldn’t even bring himself to give chase. He let her go, simply kicking the generator before heading off to find another sacrifice. In truth, the dull ache in his chest was enough to make him contemplate throwing the Trial altogether. The punishment the Entity would give him was sure to hurt less.

All of their subsequent encounters were similar. Meg went back to regarding him as a threat, but Evan struggled to see her the same way. She made herself uncharacteristically scarce when she knew he was in the Trial. A few times she had been ensnared in a waiting trap, and when that happened he would allow her to wriggle free. She always sprinted away without so much as a backwards glance.

He couldn't blame her. As much as it hurt him to see her revert to their old ways, he was the one who had brought about the change.

It was an unexpectedly painful change, but a necessary one. He spent what felt like an eternity grappling with his answer. It was wrong for them to couple - by the Entity's law, they were natural enemies. He was destined for solitude, it was what he had earned when he destroyed the mines.

But perhaps most importantly, Meg deserved _better_ than him. She was brave and brilliant, unwavering in her determination. She was also the most beautiful woman Evan had ever seen, covered in dirt and blood and black oil. She was wonderful, and he'd be a damn fool if he ever thought he was worthy of her affection.

No. She needed another survivor, someone who could be there for her at the Campfire. Someone who could hold her after the horrible Trials. Someone who could show her unwavering support. Someone who she could love, and be loved by.

As much as he wanted to, how could he ever hope to give her any of that?

Evan felt a breath, restricted by the tightness in his chest, slip from him. His massive, calloused hands raised from the table to clutch his head.

As much as he wanted to assure himself that he'd made the correct decision, he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't stopped. It would have been an incredible experience, he was sure, and perhaps the first of many. In that moment, he had the opportunity to make her happy. And he refused.

The heavy feeling seemed to settle over him. It was painful, and yet there was no incriminating wound.

He couldn't remain here, wallowing in his thoughts and strange emotions. No, there had to be something he could do to keep himself from dwelling on Meg and his last few encounters with her.

He stood slowly, musing on what to do. He could go search the mines for more ore, or he could go to the forge and continue his last projects. He couldn't even remember what he had last been working on, in truth. It had been so long since he last stepped into his workshop.

He considered grabbing his machete - a habit he had developed in case he was abruptly called to a Trial. But he made his way into the cool darkness of the MacMillan Estate without it.

What exactly he planned to do escaped him at the moment. For now, he was content just to walk around, meandering about the abandoned forests and forgotten structures that he knew as home. Visiting the mine would take his mind off of it, but it would only direct his attention towards another act he couldn’t forgive himself for.

There was still the forge. He hadn’t been there in what felt like ages - between Trials he’d all but lost his motivation to continue working on his half-finished projects. It was mind-numbing, relaxing, even, to hammer away at a cooling piece of metal. That sounded exactly what he needed.

He turned headed through the familiar woods, vacant except for himself and the wind.

Nearing the western border, he thought he saw something strange among the trees. He had been here so long, the sole inhabitant of the Estate, that it was hardly a conscious decision to notice something out of place. He veered off the path slightly, wondering what the form in the fog was.

He stopped between two trees, gazing down a slight incline toward several tall stalks of amaranth.

It was her.

She was facing away from him, her attention fully committed to the hanging blooms. He knew immediately from the way the moonlight bathed her brilliant red hair in silver. He recognized her slender build, her torn leggings, those long twin braids cast over her shoulders. Her name hung on his tongue, but he stopped himself.

A more sensible part of him demanded that he keep walking. He never told her that she wasn't allowed to make use of the Estates wildflower patches. He had no reason to approach her here, without a hook to hang her on.

She hadn't seen him, either. He could pass through without a word spoken, and it would be like they were impartial strangers again.

It was how things were supposed to be.

Evan glanced down the forest path towards the forge, and then once more at the survivor picking flowers.

He took a step towards her instead.

His approach was careful, deliberate. He wasn’t attempting to sneak up on her - no, he walked slowly and made certain that she could hear him far before she saw him. If she were to run again, she would have plenty of opportunity. He would be disappointed, but he would not give chase. Above all, he wanted to avoid frightening her.

He was sure that Meg heard him. He was a heavy man, and didn’t move lightly over the grass and fallen leaves. She turned quickly, her braids whipping around as she met his gaze. He froze, a strange mixture of guilt and remorse flooding him. The last time he’d seen her so closely, it had been when he denied her.

After a moment, Meg turned back around and continued to pick flowers. Wordlessly, she resumed as if she hadn’t seen him at all.

Maybe she was tolerating his presence. Optimistically, he continued towards her until he stood close enough that she couldn’t ignore him, but far enough to give her ample personal space. He waited for her to say something. Anything. She was often so quick to spout off a snide remark, or to break the silence with a sharp word.

Nothing.

Evan cleared his throat, hoping to draw her attention away. It didn’t phase her. Aside from a slightly irritated side-eye, she continued on like he wasn’t there.

He sighed.

“Meg.” He finally said.

Meg turned her head to look at him, finally willing to acknowledge his presence. She pretended to only have just noticed him, despite the impossibility that posed.

“Oh. Hey.” She replied, offering nothing more before turning back to the patch of flowers.

“What are you doing?” Evan inquired. He took a careful step towards her, hoping not to frighten her away. But Meg seemed rather calm. Not angry, nor was she nervous. She simply continued to pluck at the blooms with her slender hands. It was almost like watching her play a harp.

“What does it look like?” Meg asked, not looking at him. “I’m picking flowers.”

Evan felt incredibly dense for a moment. Of course she was. This was already off to a great start.

“I…” He sighed. “I meant to ask what you plan to use them for.”

“An offering, of course.” Meg said, running her fingers over the violet-red blossoms. “I read in the journal that you can appease the Entity by burning certain items. No idea if it's true or not.”

“It is.” Evan confirmed.

Meg turned to look at him. Her lips parted slightly, as though she were about to ask him something. But they closed as she realized precisely how he knew that.

Evan sensed her hesitation.

He cleared his throat again before changing the subject.

“There are several patches like this around the Estate. I never use them for offerings, so you may if you wish.” He said, willfully ignoring the fact that she was already helping herself without such permission.

“You burn offerings?” Meg asked, sounding skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Huh. But, I mean, you don’t have a campfire. Where do you burn them?”

“I have a furnace. And a forge.” They both accepted offerings, and he frequently just used whichever he was nearest to.

Meg turned away from the tall stalks of hanging flowers, her curiosity apparently stoked by the statement. Her blue eyes widened slightly before she spoke.

“Really? Where do you keep a whole forge?” She inquired, glancing around the misty darkness.

“It's in an area that isn't used for Trials.” Evan explained.

Silence lingered between them for a moment before he spoke again.

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Much to his surprise, Meg took a step closer. She gave him a small grin and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure. Sounds a lot better than sitting around here,” she said.

The amount of sincerity in her tone warmed him. He turned away, glancing back up the trail and through the trees before starting off in that direction. The echo of her lighter footfalls followed behind him as he returned to the worn path. She could keep up quite well without an injured leg, he noticed. But it was to be expected. She was known for her speed, after all.

They walked in silence, listening to the rustle of the trees, watching stray leaves drift through the breeze. For a constructed world, it could certainly be convincing at times. It was only because of his knowledge of the Entity that he knew this place wasn’t real at all. That, and the moon. It was permanently full - omnipresent, warding them with moonlight. But it never cycled, never changed. It was frozen here, just like the rest of them.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” Meg’s voice came from his side. He hadn’t noticed that she’d come alongside him, following his gaze toward the sky.

“Yes.” Evan offered. He did his best not to sound dismissive - his voice was naturally gruff and deep from how infrequently he used it.

“I miss the sun, though.” She murmured.

Evan had nearly forgotten the word. He had grown so accustomed to the darkness, to the night, that the idea of day almost made him stop. Light often meant something bad for him. The lights of generators signaled that he was failing in his duty, and the strange portable lamps they carried were painfully blinding.

“You will see it again.” He said before he even realized what he meant. Before she had an opportunity to ask, he cleared his throat and pointed ahead.

“There.” He said, gesturing to the rather unassuming building in front of them. It was similar in construction and materials to the other buildings on the estate, but with a pointed roof and a large side door. He walked ahead to the main door, pulling it open.

Meg glanced at him before looking inside, surprised by the light of the forge. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared, and she took a step into the surprisingly neat workspace - all things considered.

She walked along the tables of unfamiliar tools and prods, stopping herself just before she collided with the anvil in the center. On the other side of the room, blades of all kind, horseshoes, bells, a wagon wheel mounted on the wall. She marveled at them. Despite how long it must’ve been since some of the items were made, they all looked new.

“Did you make all this?” Meg asked, her voice low with awe as she stepped forward to pick up a bell.

“At one point.” Evan confirmed, having closed the door to step beside her.

As she set the bell back down, she looked over at what appeared to be a small, disorganized silvery pile off to the side.

“What’re these?” She asked, already reaching to grab one.

Evan did his best not to wince. Thankfully, she wasn’t looking.

“Rings?” Meg separated one from the pile and raised it into the warm light of the forge.

“Not good ones.” Evan said quickly. “I never learned how to do them right.”

“You kidding?” Meg exclaimed, lowering the ring and turning to gaze at him with admiration. “They’re beautiful! Look at all the detail.”

“I didn’t have any stones.” Evan said, feeling suddenly awkward. He never expected anyone to see his work, let alone appreciate it so openly. “They’re plain. Nobody would have ever used them.”

“I will.” Meg said. “Can I try it?”

For just a moment, he hesitated. Surely she had to know the significance of the rings. They were made in the hopes that he could find someone to marry, but that hardly worked out the way he'd hoped.

And yet her eagerness to appreciate his work warmed him in a way he'd never felt before. No one had ever asked to wear something he made before.

“Of course.” He said, watching with a warm chest as she slipped it over her fingers to find the best fit. Eventually she settled on her right index. She extended her hand, admiring the new addition with a pleased expression before turning back to him.

“It's beautiful! Thank you.” Meg said, earnest and satisfied. He thought he even saw a hint of pride in her face.

“Thank you, actually.” He said, instantly forgetting the right response from the rush of strange feelings surging through him.

Meg was already looking around again, peering under bells and studying blade handles with particular intensity. He was content to let her peruse, but he cleared his throat.

“While you’re here, I have something for you.” He said, moving to stand behind her.

She turned to look up at him, one brow quirking.

“Another gift? Wow, you’re really spoiling me.” Meg replied playfully, one corner of her mouth curled up in a nearly cat-like manner.

The beast of a man reached into one of the shallow pockets on the upper half of his overalls. He dug for only a few seconds with his large fingers, withdrawing a bounty that Meg couldn’t see. He slowly extended a darkened hand to her, with a few familiar batteries resting in his palm.

Her face reddened instantly.

“I found these at the edge of the property.” Evan began hesitantly, not entirely sure why she froze the way she had. “I can’t make any use of them. But I suppose you can.”

Meg accepted them, chuckling oddly before storing them in the small compartment on her belt.

“Yeah, um, they’re batteries.”

“For your hand torch, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Trapper.”

“Trapper?” He echoed.

“Oh, yeah.” Meg said gingerly. “I mean, that’s just kinda what everyone calls you. You’re the Trapper because… you…”

“Trap.” He finished.

“.... Yeah.” Meg said, one hand slowly wandering to the back of her head to stroke the braids awkwardly.

“I see.” He returned, not sure what else to say. It made sense, of course, that they’d develop their own title for him. But he had only ever known himself as Evan.

“But that’s not who you are, is it?” Meg probed. She took a step forward, tilting her head and bending forward slightly. “You’re not just a trapper. They may not know, but I do.”

She straightened up, gazing at him.

“So, tell me. Who are you really?”

He was many things. He knew much about what he was - a threat, a predator, a monster. He was an enforcer of his father’s will, a vessel through which the Entity acted. Had he ever really been anything else? A brief image of the mask’s grin flashed through his mind.

But he wasn’t wearing it now.

“Evan.” He said finally. “I’m Evan MacMillan.”

“Evan.” Meg repeated tenderly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She rested her delicate hand on his arm for just a moment, but it slid away as she stepped around him and headed towards the door. He watched her leave, unsure exactly what to do. As she neared the door, she opened it and stood illuminated by the moonlight and fire.

“You coming?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

He snapped out of his thoughts, no longer distracted by the way she looked. He moved to join her, closing the door to his workshop behind them as she started down the trail again.

“Where are you going?” He asked, coming up alongside her.

“Nowhere in particular. I just like using my legs.” She offered. “Why? You have any more cool secret places for me?”

“No,” he said.

“Boo.”

They continued along in silence, simply meandering about the paths that wound around the Estate. Evan was surprised how immediately comforting her presence was. He'd taken to her much faster than he ever expected. And sharing his home with her… well, it was…. _Nice_.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. They were coming upon the amaranth stalks again, a sign that Meg could be about to leave. It was now or never.

“Meg?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“I am glad you are here. I have something to tell you, and it would have been difficult to say during a Trial.”

Meg looked back at him, halting in her tracks to focus on the conversation. She seemed to know what was coming, based on her expression.

“Go on, then,” she said.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I handled your advances.”

Meg was silent for a moment.

“Why?” She eventually asked.

“It was…” He paused, searching for the exact way to communicate his feelings. “...Inappropriate.”

Meg blinked, one of her dark brows raising slightly above the other.

Evan sighed before elaborating.

“I understand that you… were hoping for more. So was I, to tell you the truth. But I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, big guy. I understand.”

“You do?” The words were out before he even had a chance to stop himself. The punishment for not performing as expected was so often violence or verbal assaults. It was so strange, he thought, that she didn’t resent him for his failure to oblige her.

“Of course I do.” Meg assured him, and from her smile he could tell that she was sincere. “You remember what I said back there? What you want matters to me. I still mean it.”

It hardly made any sense to Evan. She had no reason to overlook what would be a transgression to any other being. What reason had she to forgive him? To address him with mercy and react only with acceptance to his failure? Was it even a failure at all? His chest stirred with unfamiliar emotions. He was so swept up in his confusion that he hadn’t noticed that Meg had turned back to the tall stalks of amaranth.

“Wait.” Evan said, and Meg complied. She turned to meet him again, looking puzzled.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“I’ve a question for you.”

“Alright,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Shoot.”

He hesitated for only a moment.

“I don’t understand you see in me.” Evan stated. “Am I not frightening to you? Does the memory of what I have done to you and your friends not return when you look at me?”

He shifted his weight, perhaps a bit nervous about broaching this subject. It’d been one he mused about for what must’ve been hours, trying to understand why she had come to him wanting intimacy. It defied all the logic he could apply to the situation. He had nothing to offer her - no financial gain anymore, even his name meant nothing here. Was she desperate? Misguided? Lost?

“You’re kind.” Meg replied, and her answer surprised his thoughts into silence. “You’re right, you are pretty scary, but underneath it all… You’re just a man. I don’t know how you got here, or why you have to hunt us, but you don’t want that, do you?”

“No.”

“Then things are this way because you can’t change them.”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe the real you is the man who helped me when I got stuck and brought me home.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He pitied her, certainly, and it was that pity that drove him to help her out of the trap and back to the campfire. It was nobody’s fault that they ended up here. As far as he could tell, it was only fellow killers who were known for heinous acts. They were innocent. Victims of something much larger than either of them could comprehend.

“Maybe.” Evan finally agreed. “But what about the others who are like you?”

“The other survivors?” Meg asked. “No, I mean. Not really. There's nobody there who… Who I really feel strongly for. I care about them, they're my friends, but it's just not like that. And everyone is already such a friend that just hooking up with them is too weird, you know?”

“No.” Evan responded bluntly.

“Oh. Lucky.” Meg said. “Thanks for listening, then, I guess.”

“Perhaps eventually one will arrive who you do feel strongly for.”

“God,” Meg interjected quickly, her brows furrowing and her lips forming a scowl. “I hope that never happens. Ever.”

“Why?” It seemed rather counterintuitive to him.

“Because think about it!” Meg began, unable to keep the passion out of her voice. “I’d be seeing them die every day. I’d see them go up there to the Entity and I’d never get to escape that! I’d get to hear them crying by the log because they still feel pain from the sacrifice. And it’d never stop. We could never be happy.”

She sighed.

“I’m already here. I don’t want anyone else to be trapped here too, just because I’m lonely.”

Evan felt a sharp rush of pain as she glanced down and exhaled again. Her slim shoulders dropped. For the first time, he saw her looking vulnerable. Meg carried herself so proudly, as though the challenges in this or any other world were incapable of slowing her down. And he'd always admired her for that.

This was still her. Just a side of her he'd never seen before.

Maybe they were both learning new things about one another.

He cleared his throat after a moment.

“You're welcome to return should you need more amaranth.” He said, unable to hide the tenderness in his voice. “Or should you seek my company again.”

Meg smiled at him, but didn't speak. She was giving him time to say what he meant.

“It has been… pleasant, having you here.” Evan finally continued. “I will miss your presence.”

“Don't worry about it, big guy,” Meg cooed. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but he thought he heard a hint of affection in her voice. “I'll be back. Don't know when, but you'll see me again.”

“I'd like that.”

She suddenly moved towards him her arms extended, and while he was surprised at first he realized her intent quickly. Her small arms wrapped around his torso, with little hope of meeting in the back. She leaned into him, resting her head on his broad chest. He froze, at first shocked by her display of trust, and secondly too worried that a single movement from him would hurt her.

But slowly, he let his massive hands slide over her back, returning the hug as best he could without startling her.

“I'll come back. I promise.” Meg murmured from his chest. She'd grown quite comfortable there, rubbing her head slightly against him.

In truth, he didn't want her to leave at all. Her presence was just as comforting as he had imagined, and she was even beginning to behave like a friend towards him. It was new and exciting in this lonely, monotonous life.

He leaned in, noticing that Meg raised herself to match his movement. One of his large hands moved to cup her face, running his thumb over her soft cheek. It brushed over her bottom lip for just a moment. Evan felt a rush of shame immediately, but Meg giggled and rubbed her face against his hand approvingly.

Well. So far, so good.

He slid his calloused hand over her face, grabbing one of her silky braids and running it through his fingers. Her lips parted slightly. He knew he was watching them too closely.

They held one another's gazes for a moment. But in that moment, Evan felt a surge of heat unlike anything from the foundry. He was consumed by it. By her.

Meg leaned in further, her blue eyes sliding closed. Instinctively, he did the same thing.

Before he knew it, he was kissing her again. It was difficult to kiss her while she was standing, he had to lean forward a considerable degree. His hands found her waist again and lifted her with ease. Meg's slender legs wrapped around his waist before their mouths met again - hungry for one another.

His experience kissing was limited, mainly chaste in nature. But the feisty ginger girl awakened something powerful that had long laid dormant. A beast starved for contact, for affection, for sex.

Her mouth was soft and warm, velvety against his own. Lost in a haze of lust, he squeezed her waist and then forced his tongue between her lips. Meg let out a muffled moan before slowly

His hands wandered her clothed body, feeling the delicate curve of her hips, her small but compact muscles. The tight clothing she wore gave him a good idea of what she looked like beneath it, from the way it clung to her frame. But feeling her was an entirely new experience. One of his massive hands trailed over her thighs, squeezing while the other moved beneath her rear.

He felt her draw in air as he touched her, her eyes opening as she broke the kiss. Her head turned down to look at his hand supporting her.

“Something wrong?” For a moment, he was terrified that he'd done something wrong. It was clear they were from different time periods, after all. How much had things changed, from his time to hers?

“No, it's good.” Meg said, turning back to him with a familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. “But do you know what would make it better?”

Evan felt his cock stiffen in his overalls as she reached for the zipper of her top. She pulled it down agonizingly slowly, taking her time to ensure that he was tortured by the wait. Eventually he saw the beginnings of her chest, only to have it obscured by a strange black garment.

It bound her breasts back, seemingly elastic like her other clothes. It covered her chest in a way that didn't look like any bra he'd ever seen. Granted, that wasn't many.

She must've noticed the confusion on his face. As she finished and slid her top off of her shoulders, she looked at him with a smirk.

“Never seen a sports bra before?” She teased.

“I didn't spend my time trying to figure out the sort of underwear female athletes wear.” Evan replied, watching her hands grip the lower edge of the garment.

“Right! That's a recent hobby, isn't it?” Meg purred. Before Evan could protest, she lifted the bottom of her bra over her head.

He nearly dropped her from the sight, but his grip on her only strengthened when he saw her tits bounce free. She had a pair of perky breasts, a bit larger than he imagined thanks to the bra compressing them. She had two small, pink nipples and a few freckles dusted her pale skin.

Her bra joined her shirt on the ground as her hands moved to cup her breasts teasingly. She pushed them together, accentuating her cleavage.

Evan reached out to touch them, unable to exercise the same restraint he displayed earlier. Her hands fell away, and he reached out to cup the girl's tits in his massive hand. He groped her eagerly, thumbing over her nipples and squeezing her chest. She mewled and Evan felt her hips buck into his hand.

“Evan,” she whispered, face already red from arousal. “I'm not going to beg for you again.”

“You won't have to.” He returned in his deep tones, and in his arms he could feel a quiver run up her spine.

Meg grinned and kissed him again feverishly.

After they continued for a while, Evan slowly lowered himself to his knees, releasing Meg gently onto the ground while he started to unbuckle his overalls. He hadn't finished by the time he realized Meg was quivering in the dirt, half-naked and tugging at her pants.

“You're shaking.” He noted.

Meg looked up.

“I'm just a little cold, that's all. Not used to it. But you'll warm me up, right?”

It struck Evan at once that he was about to take Meg here and now, in the dirt of some unremarkable patch of woods while she endured the cold night. That was hardly how he wanted her first time with him to be. She deserved better than being bred in the dirt like an animal.

He stopped fiddling with his overall buckle and reached forward to collect her, making sure to grab her discarded clothes and put them on her chest. Meg gave a surprised squeal, quick to words as he stood again and began walking.

“Hey! What was that all about?” She demanded. “Where are we going?”

“To the manor. There's a bed there.”

“You have a manor?! Then what are you doing sleeping in that shack?” Meg's incredulous voice came from his chest. He stole a look down at her, amused by the way her eyes widened with surprise.

“It's not mine.” Evan explained as he made his way through the woods, scanning for the structure. “It was my father's.”

“Doesn't that make it yours too?” Meg inquired, and he could feel her shifting in his arms as she tried to sit up.

“No. He felt I was more… efficient when I stayed in the hunting shack.” He replied.

“Oh.”

“But for this,” he paused, “for _you_ , I will make an exception to his rule.”

Evan felt Meg's soft lips on his neck and shoulder in reply. She peppered his collarbone in affectionate kisses, purring with pleasure at his decision. Perhaps this was only the start of many defiances to come.

Eventually, the treeline began to recede. As it fell away, Meg turned to gaze at the unfamiliar building. It was enormous, far larger than any house she’d ever seen before. Though it appeared to be mostly brick, in keeping with the time period it was from, it still was quite dark and seemed to nearly loom over them. They drew closer and Meg began to notice the state of disrepair the house was in. The damage was about the same as most other buildings in the Fog, perhaps a little better thanks to how sturdy it was.

Evan walked up the large stairs to the front door, grabbing the handle with one hand while cradling her in his other arm. The old door creaked open to reveal a long-abandoned foyer. He felt Meg’s hands wrap tighter around him, a bit nervous.

“Don’t worry. We’re the only ones here.”

“Are you sure?” Meg asked, her voice a whisper.

“Yes.” Evan confirmed. Despite his assurance, he could tell from the way Meg was scanning the room that she was nervous. It was probably because her feet were off of the ground. Taking away her ability to flee likely made her nervous.

“Do you want to be let down?” He murmured, pausing at the doorway.

“No, no, it’s okay.” She said. “I trust you.”

He nodded and headed inside.

It had been so long since he last stepped into the old halls of his father’s home. It had been his once, but at some point after he made use of his traps for the first time, he was moved into the hastily constructed shack. Only scarcely had be reason or permission to return. As he gazed at the worn paintings on the walls, the peeling wallpaper, Evan realized how little of the manor he actually knew.

But at least he could count on the layout being the same. He headed towards the grand staircase, taking a left at the top. His own room was filled with files and ledgers, so that left him wandering around, opening doors until he found one of the larger bedrooms. Despite the fact that it was long deserted, the red of the curtains and bed still appeared vibrant. It would be large enough to support them both. Hopefully, anyway.

Evan approached and slowly lowered his partner onto the bed. She laid back slowly, pushing her clothes to the side to bare her chest to him again. His massive hands palmed her chest, squeezing her tits as he felt her legs wrapping around his waist. He buried his face into her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent and listening to her needy mewls.

He felt Meg’s lips brush his ear.

“Gonna be hard to fuck me with my pants still on, big guy.” She murmured, her voice maddeningly titillating.

He grunted, pulling back to gaze down at her. The survivor’s face was already flushed, her legs unwinding from his hips to make the removal of her leggings easier. She pushed her shoes off, flinging them across the room with an effortless kick. Her delicate hands rested on the edge of her elastic waistband, a smirk on her face.

He didn’t have time to play games with her. Evan moved a huge hand from her breasts to the edge of her pants, touching her lean body the entire way there. Hooking two fingers beneath, he yanked them down to her calves. All that remained was a black pair of the most skimpy underwear he’d ever seen - little more than a small black triangle barely covering her sex.

Though he found them curious, they were unnecessary. He began to drag them down, feeling the blood rush to his cock as he finally saw the little cunt that tortured him so.

Meg squirmed at the sudden coldness, bringing her thighs together. Evan’s large hand swiftly moved between them, pulling one of her small legs away so he could finally see her vulva. It was neat and pink, just like he’d imagined. A plump slit, with a neat tuft of dark hair on her mound.

He brushed his knuckles over the soft velvet of her folds, hearing her inhale sharply. That could only be good, he thought, standing back up. His cock was begging for release from his overalls, and for entry into her. There was no turning back. He had to have her, here and now. Entity be damned.

Suddenly, beneath him, Meg began to move. She said nothing, but rolled onto her hands and knees after shaking her pants off fully. Now resting on her hands and knees, Meg turned to glance at him. She was fully exposing herself for him, inviting him to mount her.

Meg could feel the beast of a man shifting behind her, as if on the cusp of committing to the act. She thought about their last encounter, and a brief flash of worry made her wonder if he’d back out again.

She glanced over her shoulder, sure to put on her more enticing voice, giving her hips a teasing sway.

“Come on then,” she coaxed. “I won't bite.”

Meg paused, a playful smile winding over her lips before she continued.

“Not this time, anyway.”

He was still for a moment before Meg felt a renewed warmth against her vulva. She shuddered against his hand, feeling his calloused skin wandering over her soft folds. She couldn't quite extinguish the moan that escaped her, embarrassing as it was to be making noises so soon.

He brushed against her clit, sending a wave of pleasure through her body. It was over before she knew what to do with it, however. Whether it was intentional or not, she needed more.

“Ah, yes…” She breathed.

Meg's hips bucked back against Evan's hand, grinding against him as she desperately sought more pleasure. Warmth coursed through her body, starting in her core. Evan's thick, calloused finger parted her labia, instantly covered in slickness.

So she really did want this. The possibility of it hadn't occurred to him before. She had said she wanted it - wanted _him_ \- but something kept him from quite believing her until now.

Very well. He would oblige her, then. His finger pressed deeper into her hole and she squirmed in response. She was tight, leaving him with little room to maneuver without stretching her in some capacity. Evan couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in anything quite like this. It was certainly beyond his immediate recollection.

He remembered his last sexual encounter sparsely, but luckily he didn't need to. Instinct was a reliable guide. He drew his finger in and out of her slowly, never fully exiting her before pushing back in. Each time, he became a little rougher, a little more insistent.

It took an incredible amount of self control not to stop and pull out his cock, already growing erect in his overalls. But he was still curious about testing her body and her resolve. Her endurance during Trials was impressive to say the least, but how would the little athlete fare here?

With that, he introduced his middle finger, equally thick, and probed at her already occupied cunt. It took a bit of forcing to make her take it. Though her arousal made it easier for him, she still let out a cry of pain before he had pushed in all the way. Meg lowered her face to the blankets, her breath heavy as she adjusted to the new intrusion.

“Hh.. It's been a while.” She panted from her position on the bed.

Evan didn't really have a response for her. He grunted in acknowledgement before slowly pulling his fingers back again. She let out a small whine as he stretched her further.

It was torture to watch her there, nude, squealing at his touch, offering herself like this. Evan groaned as his erection pressed hungrily at his clothes, and with his free hand he stroked it to offer some reprieve. What a mistake that was. He was even more insistent after giving himself a taste. While he had relieved himself to the thought of her before, this was undeniably real.

Soon he was stroking himself through his clothes, feeling where his swiftly hardening cock was straining against the material. His other hand continued to pump his fingers in and out of Meg. The pressure was building, and this was just shy of torture for the Trapper. Just as she was starting to adjust to the pain and sensation, Meg felt his fingers slide out of her. She glanced over her shoulder in questioning, pale skin flushed a deep red from arousal.

She didn't have to wonder for long. The Trapper was removing his overalls, allowing them to fall to his knees as he undid the buckles keeping them upright. His scarred, muscular body was fully revealed to her for the first time. Despite the clear damage inflicted on him by the Entity, Meg found herself strangely attracted to him nonetheless. Perhaps it was the power. Perhaps it was something else.

Her eyes fell onto his cock as he shifted forward again, strong hands finding the small of her waist and yanking her hips toward his own. A brief flash of panic hit Meg as she realized what was coming. Her stomach dropped with dread of the pain that was sure to come. She couldn't suppress a whimper as she felt his tip against her vulva, and the Trapper hesitated for only a moment. She quivered lightly, and he could certainly feel it.

In an instant, a searing sting tore through her lower body, earning cries of pain from the poor girl. Meg squirmed and whined loudly as his girthy cock invaded her. She could feel it forcing her walls to accommodate it. The slickness of both his precum and her own arousal made the endeavor easy on his end, but the pain still drew pitiful whimpers from Meg. The Trapper paused for a moment, struggling to silence the groan of pleasure that rose from him after his cock slid into her tight pussy. It took every ounce of self control he had not to start blindly thrusting into her further - but her audible distress stayed him for the moment. Beneath him, Meg was still struggling to adjust.

She felt his firm grip come away from her hips, but her cunt remained stuffed. A few more heavy breaths escaped her before the initial soreness started to subside. Once again, Meg glanced over her shoulder. The beast of a man stayed still, a few low grunts occasionally accompanying him. It was torture, she was sure, but he was motionless. Supporting herself with one elbow, Meg reached over and grabbed one of his massive hands to return it to her hip.

This was all the signal he needed. Any facade of control he had was gone in an instant - replaced only by the mounting lust that had been building in him for what felt like an eternity. His powerful hips crashed into hers with the sort of graceless force he was known for. His hands wrapped around her navel, pulling her to him as he leaned over her for more control. The poor girl cried in pain each time he hilted, feeling that thick cock force her walls apart.

His strong hands wandered over her body as he continued to fuck her, eventually one came to rest on her chest. He groped at her breasts, able to fit a generous amount in his massive hand. Beneath him, Meg's slender body wracked from his powerful thrusts, cries escaping her as he bore into her over and over. He settled into a steady rhythm before long. He thrusted, she whined, he reeled back, and then thrust again.

He couldn’t say how long it went on, with him embedded deeply inside her. He was losing himself to the pleasure. Her tight hole was far superior to his own hand, he could feel pressure on every inch of his cock at once. If it weren’t for the stamina he built up, he was sure he would’ve cum much sooner than he planned. It was certainly difficult to stave off his climax, Evan slowed his thrusts to make sure that she wasn’t left wanting.

But based on the way she gripped the sheets and cried, that didn’t seem too likely.

Utterly consumed by the wave of lust, the raging heat that kept his hips thrusting, he leaned over her, so that his chest rested against her back. His hand moved to grip one of her braids, tugging it back, though he took care to ensure it wouldn’t harm her. She gave a surprised moan, but didn’t speak against it.

It was this that emboldened him further. Without thinking, he bit down on the nape of her neck,

The beast felt something warm, something urgent and white-hot growing where he was interlocked with Meg. It spread, growing more intense and speeding his thrusts until it suddenly he felt only a wave of euphoric release. Thick ropes of his warm cum poured into her. He gave a final thrust as he shuddered, hilting inside the girl as a groan slipped from behind his mask.

His breath was ragged and heavy after that overpowering sense of pleasure. Evan found himself dazed by the sensation - perhaps in his solitude he had forgotten how incredible being with another could be. No matter the case, he was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of Meg's voice.

“Evan,” she said, her voice fatigued but insistent.

He grunted in acknowledgement, doubtful of his ability to form words at the moment.

“You're gonna… break my hips.” Meg grunted, and it was only then that Evan realized how tightly he had been holding her. At once, his grip on her hips loosened and his guilty hands fell away. Meg gave a small huff of relief, crawling forward once she was free. Evan felt his cock slip from her when she did, a shudder crawling up his spine as her tight hole, now brimming with his seed, slipped over his member one last time.

He remained there, recovering from the high as his breathing slowly started to return to normal. He glanced up, seeing that Meg had laid down on her side. She was clearly spent as much as he was, her eyes closed as her small chest heaved from the physical strain she'd undergone. The Trapper glanced down at his cock, moving to return it to the confines of his overalls. Soon he had buttoned up the front.

The Trapper's gaze fell onto Meg once again. Despite himself, a tender ache surged in his chest as he took her in. Her unkempt auburn braids, her face smeared with blood and dirt. The slow motion of her chest as she regained herself. Every detail that seemed mundane at any other time now felt engraved into his mind. He had no explanation for it, though presently he didn't care for one. Meg must have heard the sound of him rebuttoning his overalls, because her eyes slid open.

“Evan?” She asked quietly.

“Hm?” He returned with a deep grunt.

“Are you leaving?” Her voice was gentle, perhaps uncharacteristically so. He attributed it to her tiredness.

Evan was uncertain how to reply. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was a trick question or not.

“Is... that what you want?”

“No,” she admitted softly, “is... that what you want?”

“... No.”

A smile pulled at Meg's lips, and she laid back down. With one slender hand, she motioned for him to come closer. Evan was quick to obey, carefully putting his weight onto the bed and laying down beside her. His weight caused an indent in the mattress, sending her rolling towards him until she rested against his chest. She began to laugh quietly, apparently amused by it.

Now, Evan MacMillan did not call things _cute_. But if he had to pick something, it would definitely be that. He smiled down at her in spite of himself.

Meg's delicate body leaned against his, much to his surprise. She cooed tenderly, her soft body pressed against his. One of her hands raised to rest on his cheek, brushing her thumb over the corner of his mouth.

“You look good when you smile.” She murmured.

Before he could protest, she brought her fine face closer and closer to his scarred skin. Her breath, sweet and hot, rolled over him in tiny waves before he felt her lips against one of his scars. She pressed chaste kisses to his marred flesh, her lips even lingering as she drew closer to his mouth.

He looked down at her inquisitively. He wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but whatever it was, he couldn't help but be endeared by it. He coaxed her on, his hand finding the small of her back and pressing her to his chest. It was both a protective and an urging gesture. She pulled back after a moment, instead opting to rest her head against his clavicle. Considering that he was sweaty, and covered in soot and metal, he couldn't have imagined he tasted all that pleasant. She settled for nuzzling her head into his chest instead, closing her eyes and sighing comfortably.

Still, despite being afraid to move too much, Evan found that her felt a foreign warmth in his chest. The strange, tender ache was back, consuming him with twice the hunger. Whatever this was, it was nothing he'd ever known.

And yet, it was more comforting than anything else he had.

Evan allowed himself to relax, feeling Meg's cool breaths on his chest, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it is! The largest chapter in the fic to date, and hopefully a fitting finale for now! If I have any ideas I may return to this fic, but I also have other DbD projects in development. I hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you so much for all the support! Your comments and kind words kept me writing and looking forward to your feedback!
> 
> Love you guys!  
> Cym0rg


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